


One Fateful Scotch

by Sapphael



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphael/pseuds/Sapphael
Summary: Sonny is roofied, assualted, and finds himself half-concious on Rafael's doorstep. Tonight, Sonny will experience New York as a victim, the kindness of strangers, and the comfort of his squad.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 116
Kudos: 150





	1. Carisi Makes an Enemy

The laughter cooled. There was a lull in the conversation and neither felt a need to fill it. It was just them. It was enough. The rest of New York hurried by outside in the dark but inside, sat at the bar with Rollins, Carisi felt warm.

“I gotta take a leak.” Carisi stood.

“I'll get these– what shall it be?” She tilted up her chin to smile at him.

“Uhhh, that fancy stuff Barba drinks.” Carisi decided.

“Only on my dime huh?”

"I'll get the next round,” he promised, folding his coat over the back of his chair and heading into the restrooms.

Rollins turned back to the bar, feigning outrage at Carisi’s expensive choice of drink. She glanced up at the bartender, flashing him her southern smile, then checked her phone. No hurry. She had booked a sitter and had the whole evening to spend with Carisi.

“This seat taken, gorgeous?” A man slid onto Carisi’s stool beside her. He was a youngish office type with a bloodless, bony face and gelled black hair; the sort of man who’d consider her an “older woman” and a “challenge”. Probably one of the few challenges in his remarkably privileged life.

”Yes.” Rollins raised her shoulder against him and turned her head towards the bartender.

“How about now?” The man picked Carisi’s coat of the back of the chair and dropped it on the ground. In a booth, Rollins noticed the man’s three, equally drunk friends, killing themselves laughing. “I’m Dale. Dale Rochester. Rochester like the department store…”

“I’m just here with a friend so put the coat back and cut it out.” A man like this would have riled Rollins a few years ago but the job had blunted her interest in boring men and their inferiority complexes. Best just to wait. It was depressing to admit but Carisi coming back would deter this man more than anything she could say or do.

“Hey c’mon I’m just here to enjoy a Friday night. Can’t I enjoy a pretty woman’s company too?” He placed a hand on Rollins’ thigh and spread his fingers experimentally. “What’s your name, sweetheart? I told you mine. Fair’s fair.”

“Two scotches, please.” She brushed him off. The bartender shot office boy a warning look and made a start on her order.

“Scotch? So, we’re having that kind of night baby alright! I’ll get these.” He flashed a credit card.

“No, thank you.” Rollins tried to protest but office boy was already plugging in his PIN. His heavy signet ring clinked against the tumbler as he handed her one of the scotches.

“Amanda?” Sonny returned, inserting himself between Rollins and the man.

“Sonny,” Rollins said reassuringly. She’s fine. Everything’s fine.

“Hey. Hey! Me and her, we’re having a drink so why don’t you fuck off.” The man shoved Sonny in the back. “Hey grandpa! I’m talking to you.” Hearing the rising voices, his friends levered themselves out of their booth and lurched drunkenly towards the bar. All were dressed in expensive, ill-fitting grey suits and choked by cologne. Just boys trying to look important in the big city.

“Move on. You even old enough to be in here?”

“Hey man why don’t you back off and let me drink my scotch with my lady here?”

“Not a chance. Trust me; she’s not interested. You buy these with your Daddy’s credit card?”

One of the other patrons, nursing a beer just down the bar, stifled a laugh. Office boy flexed his shoulders.

“Carisi let’s just…” Rollins slid off her stool, picked Carisi’s coat off the floor and took hold of his arm, guiding him gently away from the imminent fight. “Let’s just go somewhere else.” The huddle of hair-gelled men surrounded them. She was fully prepared to cut their losses and move on but Carisi stood firm.

“Go on. Move along. She’s not interested.” He pointed to the door.

“Right.” The man swung his fist in a wild arc at Carisi’s face but Carisi taught his flailing wrist, twisted, and slammed the man onto the bar top.

“Stop making trouble or I’ll have to call your mother down here and explain you been harassing women.” Carisi pushed the boy harder for good measure, then let go.

The boy straightened, rubbing his cheek, and spat on Carisi’s shoes.

“Out!” The owner appeared and jostled the group towards the door. The more sober members of the group escorted the drunkest away muttering, “he’s not worth it, Dale.”

Rollins let her shoulders drop. There were still two scotches on the bar in front of them. “Let’s not let them ruin our evening. I could do with a drink.” She patted the stool beside her.

“Yeah! Run along home!” Carisi jeered at the closing door. He settled back in and took a breath to ask after Rollins' sister, but a jingly tune rang out from Rollins’ handbag.

“Rollins,” she answered. Shooting Carisi an apologetic glance, she put a finger to her other ear and drowned out the bar.

Carisi took a mouthful of scotch. Horrible. Sorry Rafael, but that is disgusting. He watched Rollins tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, press the phone against her head and frown as she tried to make out the other speaker. If time stopped now, he thought, this wouldn’t be so bad: nursing horrible whiskey in a cop bar and watching Amanda.

“I’m sorry. It’s Jesse… I gotta head off.” Rollins sounded distracted as she gathered her things.

“Everything alright?”

“Just an anxious sitter, I think, but you can’t be too safe. I’m so sorry Sonny, maybe tomorrow?”

“No worries. You got a kid. I get it. You need me to walk you home?”

“I’ll get a cab, thanks. But enjoy the scotch!” she called over her shoulder.

“I will,” he grimaced playfully. 

She has a kid. He understood. He checked his phone. Eight pm. Still early but he’d been granted a legal masterclass at Barba's in the morning. An early night wouldn’t be a bad idea – God knows there had been enough sleepless ones lately with the SVU. But there was still one scotch. It would be a shame to waste it. Carisi picked up the heavy glass, watched the amber liquid roll against the sides, and knocked it back. With that, Carisi’s fate was sealed.


	2. Carisi Finds Himself Lost in New York

Carisi took his time to pack up. He put on his coat, tucked in their stools and left a generous tip after the almost-bar-fight. He thought about the subway with its roaring tunnels and rats but decided the evening was nice enough for the short walk home.

It was Friday night in the big apple. Bass boomed through the sidewalk from some basement bar. Cabs splashed through puddles of neon reflections. Girls in miniskirts crowded the pavements, jewellery matching makeup matching eyes and shoes and hair. In a few hours’ time, at least one of them would be crying black, mascara tears and telling a detective how her night out had gone so horribly wrong. But for now, they all looked stunning.

Carisi let his feet carry him homewards. He thought about Rollins. Maybe…he loved her? It was hard – whenever he was with her, they were either working or with Jesse and then it felt wrong to think about her _like that_. She was beautiful. And they got on. Well. He made her laugh. And he loved spending time with her. But was that just a good partnership? Was there something more?

It wasn’t until his shoulder clipped a lamppost that he came to and realised he was on the wrong street. He focused and saw a bowling alley, a hipster coffee place and a squat old church. He wasn’t far off; just a block over from his usual route. He crossed in front of a fleet of yellow cabs and resumed his rightful course.

A shriek broke through his musings and his coat caught on an abandoned bicycle’s handlebars. He looked around wildly but it was just a girl on the phone. Someone laughed behind him, but he couldn’t pick them out of the pack of Friday night revellers. Then he saw the dark line of trees marking the park up ahead and realised that he had gone too far. He should have taken a left already. He stopped, unbuttoned his coat and flapped the collar. The scotch has gone straight to his belly and the warmth was spreading through him.

He found the crossing and as he waited for the signal, a stone rolled across the paving and bounced off the back of his heel. He heard that laugh again but people were packed too tightly to see any one face. He crossed the road on autopilot, following the crowd, but then came to a standstill on the other side. People tutted and parted around him but he couldn’t remember whether he wanted to go up or down. He touched his hot face, his wet hair, felt the perspiration and rain, but didn’t think to put up his hood. Home. Right. He was going home. His body moved sluggishly. He hadn’t realised he was so exhausted. Or maybe it was the damn scotch. Either way, he just wanted to get home.

“Watch it!” He stumbled into a girl in pink sash. Or maybe she’d walked into him? A cab rushed past and he stumbled back. Home! God it had been a long week. Now he needed to go right…along….and then take another left at the fried chicken place. But as he looked ahead and followed the line of shops, he couldn’t see the chicken place. Instead, there was a pharmacy with its green plus sign blinking above the door. He steadied himself with a hand on a trash can and looked around feeling dazed. How was he lost? He knew nothing as well as he knew New York. So how was he lost barely ten minutes from home?

Faceless New Yorkers flowed around him. No one saw him. Sonny stood, confounded by geography, barely a hundred metres from the bar he’d left a quarter hour ago. He considered that he had underestimated Barba – the man was a machine! How could he easily drink six or seven scotches of an evening and still be arguing constitutional law, yet just a few had Carisi spinning in circles. No, he corrected. Not a few. That had been the plan…. but then Rollins had had to go. He had only had two. Or maybe she’d had one of them? Two shots and his cheeks were burning. “Really Carisi?” he muttered to himself, “lightweight.”

And then he was walking again. “Damn!” He stumbled as his foot plunged into a puddle. New York puddles weren’t just innocent water. The combination of grease, pollution and various chemicals leaching from the trash bags piled in the alleyways made for an Italian-leather-ruining cocktail. He bent to feel his wet trouser leg, and when he straightened, he was overcome with dizziness. He shook his head, trying to clear the strange fog. Enough of this. He would just take a cab.

Only the street he found himself on was strangely devoid of cabs. And people. And shops, come to think of it. He squinted against the rain and looked up. It was more of an alleyway, now that he looked. The black brick walls and fire escapes towered over him, almost closing out the sky. The noise of the city seemed distant. Only the drone of extractor fans and nocturnal rustling from abandoned boxes broke through to Carisi. Enough. A cab. He reached into his coat pocket, then the other, then patted his back pockets, then searched his coat again. Where was his phone. “Not tonight. Please,” he prayed.

He couldn’t remember if he’d checked his coat. So he did that again. No phone. He felt nauseous and hot and he couldn’t remember which end of the back alley he’d come from. 

A plastic bottle hit Carisi in the middle of his back. He wheeled around and was met by four men just feet away. He hadn’t heard a thing. Not their footsteps echoing off the high buildings, not their stifled laughter, not their whispering, “That’s him. There.” 


	3. Carisi ‘s Night Goes from Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape/sexual assualt

“You again huh? What happened to blondie?” The voice was cold and familiar. A lighter flared and glinted on a fat silver watch. Carisi studied the hard face that confronted him. His eyes caught on a gash along the jawline like a split seam between face and Adam’s apple, but his mind was slow to catch up.

“Whaddaya want?” Carisi tried to blink away the fog that blurred his vision and slurred his speech but it filled his brain, like he was slipping below the oily surface of the Hudson. The memory of a slam and a string of expletives rushed his brain. He felt the ghost of Rollins hand on his arm, pleading, placating. The man from the bar, it dawned on him. The man he had humiliated and thrown over the bar.

“Oh? What was that?” the man chuckled. Carisi counted three others, then had to re-count them as they shifted into his periphery and disappeared into the blackness at the edges of his vison.

“I’m just tryna get home.” Carisi tried to move past but a shove to the chest sent him staggering. “What’s ya problem?” He pushed forwards, going on the offensive, and thrust a weakly balled fist towards the man who was blocking him.

“Oh, he’s gonna fight you, Dale.”

“We’ll see about that.” Dale grabbed Carisi’s lapels and swung him against the dripping brick wall. Carisi’s legs scrambled to support him, slipping and kicking on the wet paving. He realised that he shouldn’t be in this situation; he had singlehandedly wrestled paedophiles on PCP but now he couldn’t even push back against this office boy. Something was wrong. He didn’t have his gun or his squad and his body felt very far away.

Dale pulled back then threw him against the brick with renewed force, cracking the back of his head. A punch to the stomach knocked the air and a grunt from his chest. Dale’s grip on his jacket weakened for a second and Carisi folded over, clutching his stomach and panting. Breath just wouldn’t come. His body felt distant and consciousness seemed to be floating away. But then a knee to the face brought him back into the pain and terror.

Carisi tried to dodge to the side of the group but they grabbed at his coat, his legs gave out under him and he fell to the ground. His head was full of roaring blood but he scrabbled frantically onto his knees. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Adrenaline gave way to pain and he tried to crawl forward, directionless in a spinning void of darkness and motion and reflected light. Someone grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

Until then, Dale had been the only to set a hand on Carisi but once he lay curled in the middle of their circle, the men were overcome by the prospect of a victim too out of it to fight back. They descended wordlessly on Carisi, surging forward as one. Someone kicked Carisi in the back, making his body jerk. Another shoe caught his ribs, and another, and again until kicks and grunts were swinging into him like boulders rolling down a mountainside to crush a sleeping village hill.

Dale, however, walked around to Carisi’s head. He wasn’t overcome like the others. Sure, Carisi needed to be punished. But he was a strategist. And he would take his revenge in a calculated manner.

Pain exploded behind Carisi’s eyes as the sharp toe of Dale’s leather shoes caught his temple. He curled smaller, sheltering his head with his arms. Their shouts and curses were muffled but the coursing of blood in his ears sang louder than ever. Another blow to the stomach and he shouted out in pain for the first time. The whole time he’d been making a low, keening, pleading sound but this first cry caught the men by surprise. It brought them to their senses. They dropped back anxiously, unwilling to actually kill him.

“Pockets,” ordered Dale.

Carisi was too weak and his limbs were too unresponsive to maintain his foetal position so now he sprawled at their mercy. The group dropped to their knees and started rifling through his pockets. Carisi grunted as they rolled him to get at his wallet, trapped under his body. He heard the jangle of them plucking out his keys. “Not them,” he mumbled. Liv would kill him if some thugs walked off with the keys to secure SVU rooms.

“Fuck. Dale?” One of the men held out his hand, cupping the golden weight of Carisi’s badge.

“You’re a cop?” Dale grabbed his jaw and pushed his head into the ground.

“Uhumm,” Carisi struggled.

“Let’s go,” one of the wiser men suggested.

Dale put one knee on Carisi’s chest. “You think you can push everyone around, don’t you? Cops think they can have whatever they want. That blonde girl, she wanted to drink with me. Not so powerful now, are you? We could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t be able to stop us.”

Carisi’s throat closed in fear. He was outnumbered, exhausted, in agony, blinded by swelling in one eye. He knew he was in danger but his mind felt distant, like it was deep underwater and watching events taking place on the surface. SVU had taught him how cruel people could be to each other, especially a humiliated man with someone at his mercy. He knew he should scream or fight or at least tell the guy to go to hell, but it all seemed so distant. Like it was already a memory.

“Dale…” The others had pocketed anything of value and were looking warily back towards the main street. “He hasn’t got anything else.”

“Stop saying my fucking name! And yes. He has.”

Somewhere far away, Carisi was aware of his stomach twisting and bile rising in his throat but all he wanted was sleep. Even right there on the ground, if they’d only let him. But the atmosphere had changed. Even in his addled state, he sensed that his being a cop had awoken some deep resentment in their leader.

Dale stood and looked around at the group. “If you’re gonna be a pussy, go _now_.”

Two left, leaving just Dale and one other. “I understand,” said the second man. “He deserves what he gets, talking to you like that in front of everyone. I’d do the same thing.” The second man turned his back on dale and Carisi, looking out towards the busy street only twenty metres away.

Carisi watched Dale plant his feet and heard the buzz of a zipper. His heart was pounding but he was stuck in place. Hands gripped the sides his head, dragging his limp body onto its knees. The hands adjusted, fisting in his and straining the roots for better group. Half of Carisi’s brain was screaming at him to run, bite, scratch, anything. But it couldn’t seem to get through to the other half that wanted oblivion, the half that didn’t care what happened to him anymore as long as he could sleep. That was the half in charge of his limp body. He remembered his first weeks at SVU, and the girls without so much as a defensive scratch. He had wondered how someone could endure a rape and not even raise their arms. Well now he did; he understood.

Dale rattled Carisi’s head. “Open your fucking mouth.”

Carisi yielded. His eyes were leaking, nose dripping, chest burning as he struggled for air. Without Dale’s fingers threaded through his hair, drawing his head up by the roots, he would have fallen to the floor. It went on and on, jolting and jerking, a back and forth of thrusting and choking.

An hour ago he’d been with Rollins in the bar. Two and he’d been scowling at a monitor and wondering if he needed glasses. Three and he’d been trying to come up with an creative legal workaround for a data protection clause (and also a tiny bit because Barba was stumped). So how was he; he, Sonny Carisi; here; now? How was this happening?

His neck ached, his knees burned, his body screamed for breath. He couldn’t fight, but he couldn’t stand it. Whatever was wrong, he prayed it would overcome him, that it would fill up his head and drown him. But it didn’t. So he closed his eyes and swam away into merciful impairment, into a memory of riding the bumper cars with Rollins and Jesse at a fair in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added slow burn to the tags bc Barba won't make his appearance until chapter 7


	4. Carisi Can't Come to the Phone Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay since this is quite a short chapter I thought I'd post it now (also to move the story along towards our favourite ADA).

Rollins let herself into her apartment, wiping wet strands of hair out of her face. She hadn’t been able to get her usual sitter with short notice and was worried about this other girl. “Is she okay?” she abandoned her bag and rushed towards her daughter.

“She was making these super weird noises. But then she stopped. I just thought…”

Rollins took Jesse and shushed her against her chest.

“Better safe than sorry,” finished the girl weakly.

“It’s okay,” Rollins breathed out, “isn’t it baby girl?” She held Jesse up and cooed at her. “What kind of noises?” she turned to the teenager looking sheepishly at the rug.

“Uhh she had, like, a smile on her face and she was making these little grunts I don’t know I was worried it was something to do with her breathing.”

“Probably wind,” Rollins reassured her.

“I’m sorry Amanda. I just don’t know babies that well.”

“It’s alright Katie.” Rollins laid Jesse on her mat on the floor. “Here,” she fished a few notes out of her wallet. “And tell your mama thank you for the cookies. We loved them, didn’t we Jesse?” She picked her up again and showed Katie to the door.

“Sorry for spoiling your date.”

“Oh it wasn’t…don’t worry. Goodnight. Text me when you get home.” Rollins shut the door and carried Jesse to her crib. “No night off for mama, hey? Did you not like Katie? Did you want mama to come home?”

Rollins walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. She thought about inviting Carisi over to carry on the evening, but realised he had probably just got comfortable at home. Still, she thought she’d ring him to apologise. She really had wanted to spend the evening with him. Away from work, just them.

“Hey, look I’m sorry,” she began as the phone was answered. In the background there was just muffled bass and traffic.

“He’s uh…busy. He can’t talk right now.” The low chuckle made Rollins’ blood run cold. “Can I take a message?”

“Who is this?”

“A friend.” There were some unidentifiable rustling.

Then a different voice. “Rollins? Is that your name? You seemed more of a Britney to me.”

“You. From the bar?" Rollins recognised the whiny leer. "Where is Carisi?”

“I told you alreadyyyy jeeeesus christ,” he groaned. “Fuuuuck.” His breathing was laboured. There was a dull thud in the background.

Fear rose in Rollins' throat. “Listen here you little psychopath: I’m a detective. We both are. NYPD. If I don’t hear his voice in the next five seconds, you’re going to find out what happens to boys who think they’re men in Rikers.”

Then the phone went dead. Amanda redialled but it went straight to voicemail.

She put the phone back up to her ear. “Olivia? I know, I know it’s a Friday night but something's wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll catch up with our hero, Carisi, on Wednesday :)


	5. Two Dancers Come Across Our Hero

Just along the narrow street where Carisi sprawled unconscious, the back entrance to a ‘gentleman’s club’ opened, spilling pink neon and low, sensual music. Two women in heels and mini dresses clattered out. They were engrossed in chatter, backs to the rain to keep their hair and cigarettes dry for their ten-minute break. They glanced up and saw Carisi. A drunk, clearly. Maybe homeless? But then the nice shirt didn’t make sense. A bachelor after some company, perhaps, who had missed the front entrance.

“We should check. He could be dead,” said the first woman.

“Two songs, Sonya. Then we’re on. They won’t be happy if we’re late.”

“And I doubt they’ll be happy if we leave someone to die out the back. They won’t want the cops here.” The first woman, Sonya, tapped her way into the road in her heels.

The second followed reluctantly to where Sonny lay curled on the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, mister?” Sonya gave his back a cautionary prod with her toe. He didn’t react. He was pale and his white shirt was marked with blotches of sweat.

“He looks like a corpse, Sonya. We don’t wanna be here when they find him.”

Sonya squatted and put the back of her back to his mouth. “He’s breathing. Call 911.”

“Maybe he’s broke. Maybe he wouldn’t want us to. Sonya please,” whined the other woman, “let’s go. He’s alive; he’ll be fine.”

“Hello? Mister? Can you hear me? Open your eyes,” commanded Sonya. “Help me roll him, Mari.”

Mari crouched reluctantly beside Sonya. “We shouldn’t move him. What if we mess up his spine?”

“That’s for car accidents. We need to check him. What if he’s been stabbed or something?” 

At arm’s length, Mari helped Sonya roll the man onto his back. Her hands moved stiffly, trying to shelter her long nails from the filthy asphalt. His eyes were closed and his face was slack. Blood from a split lip gave his teeth a ghoulish red stain. “What now?”

“They’re playing ‘After Party’. We got three minutes tops.”

“Help me, and it’ll go faster.” Sonya placed her hands on his torso, unsure where to start.

“I ain’t getting my knees dirty for a drunk.” Mari stood and folded her arms.

Sonya pressed lightly on his abdomen and Carisi’s face scrunched in pain. He let out a low whistle.

Sonya pulled back, then resumed her first aid. “Hey? Are you okay? Do you want us to call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m…” Carisi tried to sit but pain bloomed across his abdomen and he flopped back down.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Sonya supported his shoulders.

“I need a cab. Please.” He couldn’t think through the pain that weighed on his whole body. He had been going somewhere. Before…the men? And…he’d been going to…. a law? Thing? Barba? The lesson! With Barba! He’d been going to Barba’s.

“Okay we can do that, can’t we Mari? Do you think you can stand?”

Carisi struggled to a sitting position and put his palms on the ground, ready to push himself up. But then, just then, he felt the full force of the evening so far. There was pain everywhere, moving or even just lying on the concrete. His head ached and he was wet through and shivering. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his filthy sleeve.

“Oh honeyyy,” Sonya rubbed his back and pulled him against her chest, kneeling beside him on the wet ground.

“Sorry, Sonya. I need this job.” Mari turned and clattered back into the doorway. “I’ll tell them you’re just coming.”

Sonya shot her retreating back a cold look, then turned back to the wet puppy of a man crying into her breasts. Later tonight, someone would pay over a hundred dollars for that same privilege. “Let’s get you a cab, hey?” He whimpered with pain as she helped him up, almost as unsteady as him in her heels, but together the tottered and limped to the main street. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’m working.” She hailed a cab. “Get your head checked, sweetie. And don’t come here on your own in a state like this. It’s not safe.” She placed a hand on his head to protect him as he collapsed onto the back seat. “An if you ever come round the club again, come in the front and I’ll give you dance.” She smiled through the half-lowered window.

“Where to?” asked the cabbie.

Sonny had been chanting Barba’s neighbourhood under his breath ever since he’d first dredged it out of his memory a few minutes ago. He told the driver and managed a weak smile to his saviour outside. At first, he tried to follow their route through the steamed-up windows but the lights made his head throb and he struggled to even read the shop names. He sank back into the seat and tried just to breathe oxygen back into his battered, nauseous body. Tears were rolling down his cheeks again. He had run out of fight. His whole head was spinning in some ludicrously intensified motion sickness and it was so easy just to think of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before Barba appears! and it's a short one so it might go up on Friday


	6. Rollins Scrambles the Squad

Blue lights blazing, the squad pulled onto the kerb and ditched the car. Rollins lead the way, pushing past the bouncers into the bar she had left barely an hour ago. “Detective Rollins,” she identified herself, then introduced Benson and Fin to the owner behind the bar.

“You were here earlier,” he said pointlessly.

“Yes, I was here with a man, my partner, uhm…”

Fin held out his phone and showed the man Carisi’s face from a crop of their New Year squad photo.

“I remember. You had trouble with some guys.”

“Yes! What happened to my partner after I left?”

“He left.”

“He didn’t get another drink?” Rollins pressed.

“Nope. Drank the scotch and left, maybe two minutes after you did. Good tipper too.”

“Did the men come back?”

“When I throw someone out my bar, they stay out if they know what’s good for them.”

“And my partner didn’t say anything? He didn’t seem off to you?”

“Look, he was fine when he left my bar. What’s this about?”

“Thanks.” The squad were already halfway out the door. “Something was wrong, lieutenant. I could feel it,” Rollins promised.

“I trust your gut, Amanda. For now, let’s focus on finding him. Where would he have gone after this bar?” Benson looked around at crowds of partygoers, already two drinks deeper than when Rollins had left.

“Home? I left in a hurry; I didn’t ask.

“Well, let’s try his flat.” Benson maintained a level voice. “Have you tried his phone again?”

“Straight to voicemail.”

“He’s sensible, Amanda. He probably just dropped his phone and some idiots wanted to mess with you,” Fin reassured as they climbed back into the car.

“No, it was definitely the guy from the bar. That’s not a coincidence. Carisi embarrassed him. The guy sounded really weird. I just don’t know what they’d-”

“Let’s not speculate.” Benson pulled back into the traffic, turning them towards Carisi’s apartment. “He can handle himself, Rollins. We know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itty bitty chapter i know. Barba appears tomorrow in chapter 7. I promise. 
> 
> Also, just generally in this fic, I am not American and I apologise for any Briticisms that slip through the net. Trust me, I am spending my fair share of time on American slang websites. I spent like half an hour looking for the American word for doorbell, convinced it was a uniquely British thing. Am I wrong?


	7. Carisi is Somewhat Early to his Law Lesson

Friday night, and Barba was alone in his home office, working his way through a whiskey and a stack of papers. He consoled himself that at least he wasn’t at his proper office. He was still working, of course, but he could pretend that working from home was almost the same as not working.

For a moment he debated texting Liv and suggesting a drink in a bar, but he knew it was her time to spend with Noah. He had seen her earlier and they’d spent a refreshingly wholesome few minutes debating the merits of various Disney films. Rafael was a ‘Moana’ man, himself, but apparently Noah preferred the sillier ones like ‘Emperor’s New Groove’. And then Olivia had returned to the bullpen and he’d been back to reviewing child abuse testimonials. It gave him whiplash sometimes: how tonight Noah would be watching cartoons with his loving mother; and somewhere, maybe in the same apartment block, another little boy might be beaten with a belt for playing too loudly.

He leaned back in his deep desk chair and took a sip of scotch. He felt its warmth travel through him: smooth, bold, heartening. He steeled himself and opened the folder on his desk marked with the pink sticker denoting an SVU case. He loved Liv, he loved the squad, but their cases were something else. He felt almost nostalgic for the straight forward conspiracies and arsons he had tried in former years. Still. No amount of reminiscing would read this report for him. He unhooked the elastic, folded back the cover, and made a start. What a way to spend a Friday night.

The doorbell blared through the quiet house. Barba frowned and replaced the folder on his desk. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so he just waited. The doorbell’s buzz relented for a moment, then started again insistently. “Coming!” Barba called reluctantly. He headed to his entrance hall, the sound still blaring. Someone had to be literally leaning continually on the button. He peered through the fisheye in the door but was puzzled when he couldn’t see anyone. He drew back the bolt, unhooked the chain, and opened the door.

Detective Carisi, of all people, was slumped against the wall of the porch, his shoulder blades pressing on the doorbell.

“You’re about,” Barba checked his watch, “twelve hours early for our lesson.” But then as Carisi lifted his head, Barba saw the swollen, half closed eye. His nose was still bleeding and the skin across the bridge was tight and purple.

Great. My protegee has been out brawling, thought Barba. “Are you…hiding from the law, detective? The house of an assistant district attorney represents an interesting choice, if that is the case.”

“Please…?” Carisi strained. He sank the rest of the way to the ground and the buzzing stopped.

Barba shook his head, clearing the surprise and confusion, and jumped into action. “Let’s get you inside.” He reached his hands out to help Carisi up.

Carisi blinked slowly. Then, gathering himself, he got onto his knees, reached up, and took Barba’s hands.

Barba gripped Sonny’s fingers, feeling the pulse of blood in their tips, flushed like the detective’s face. Barba heaved and Carisi lurched up like an animated corpse, but his momentum carried him onwards and he pitched forwards into Barba.

Barba released Sonny’s hands and grabbed to keep him upright, but Sonny weighed on his arms and sank slowly back to the floor.

“Right.” Barba reassessed. He crouched down and looked Carisi over, deciding how best to move him. He considered how quickly he had switched gears from case preparation to the logistics of moving a semi-concious detective across his threshold.

Sonny coughed wetly and spat onto the porch flagstones.

“Come on, we can't leave you outside,” Barba murmured, as much to himself as to Carisi. He took Carisi’s wrists in his hands, feeling the tendons move beneath the clammy skin. He straightened and tried to pull Carisi up again, but he was a dead weight.

Barba took a deep breath and glanced quickly outwards into the dark street. Not the priority, of course, but he would prefer his neighbours not to see him dragging an unconscious man into his house. He prepared for a new strategy.

“Help me here, Sonny,” he coaxed, pulling Sonny away from the wall and hooking his arms under Sonny’s shoulders. “Here we go.” He heaved Sonny against his chest, dragging him vaguely upright. “What have you done to yourself?” He turned his face away from the wave of sweat and scotch as Carisi’s head lolled on his broad shoulders.

Trying to avoid tripping on Sonny’s trailing feet, Barba hefted him over the threshold and into the warm light of hall. He laid Sonny on the rug, trying to place rather than dump him, and closed the door behind them. He knelt to Sonny’s left and patted his cheek, unthinkingly choosing the swollen, bruised side. “Carisi?” 

“Don’t,” Carisi groaned.

“Sorry, sorry.” Barba surveyed the drunk young man on his carpet. He was a state. Barba tried to remember the last time he’d been blackout drunk like this. Once your friends started having kids, it was harder. There had been a time, back in college or early in his career, when it would have been a sacrilege to end a Friday night in any other way. Still, it was quite early for Sonny to have drunk himself to this level of inebriation.

“Carisi: what the hell happened?”

“I was with Rollins," Carisi articulated slowly, "An' this guy at the bar was bothering her."

“ _Rollins_ got you like this? I had no idea you were such a lightweight.” Barba rolled him a little further inside so he could close the front door. “Really, Carisi, a future ADA shouldn’t be getting into bar fights...regardless of how much he deserved it," he added quietly.

“No. It wasn’t like that,” moaned Carisi. He curled, muscles clenching and Barba realised, with a fatal delay, that he was retching.

“My rug!” Barba lamented, but he pushed Carisi’s shoulder to get him on his side and rubbed his damp back as he dry-heaved. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t heartless.

Carisi seemed to have finished, so Barba tried to sit him up. “Come on, detective. Work with me. Sit up,” said Barba tersely.

Carisi would have obliged if he’d been able to fathom which way ‘up’ was. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the spinning that enveloped his head like the birds and stars in old ‘Looney Tunes’ cartoons.

Barba knelt behind Carisi, reached under his shoulders, and dragged the detective back so his heavy head lolled on Barba’s thighs, raising him slightly. “We don’t want you choking, do we?” 

Carisi shuddered inwardly, feeling the ghost of hands in his hair and tears leaking out of his eyes. He could still taste...him...in his mouth. The spinning returned and Carisi tried staring at a fixed point to clear it. His eyes happened to land on a framed photo of fifteen young men lounging in dinner jackets on a flight of stone steps, cigars and whiskeys in hand. Harvard, probably. He sought Barba in the crowd, and that seemed to help with the dizziness. 

“I got you," Barba realised he had been subconciously stroking Sonny's hair and laid his hands on his thighs, either side of Sonny's head. "Don’t think I won’t bill you for this shirt, though.”

Carisi whined automatically at the loss of Barba's soothing hands on his head. He arched his neck to look up at Barba with that mix of adoration and dependence Barba usually saw only on Noah’s earnest little face.

The moment was broken when Barba realised, with dismay, that he had edged rather too close to the vomit puddle that hadn't quite been absorbed into the weave of the rug. “Wait ‘til your Lieutenant hears about this,” he teased softly.

“Please don’t,” Carisi moaned and shut his eyes.

“Hey, no judgement. Jägermeister does the same to me. Makes me feisty,” Barba winked conspiratorially, remembering a certain Harvard party. “But first,” Barba fished his phone out of his pocket, “I’ve got to reprimand detective Rollins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha finally some Barba and Carisi interraction, as promised


	8. Barba Tells on Carisi

No one spoke for a few minutes. The siren wailed in the background. It wasn’t far to Carisi’s apartment, but cabs and Ubers choked the roads as they dropped people outside bars and clubs. Rollins turned her badge over and over in her hands, too scared to voice the worst-case scenarios turning themselves over in her brain.

Her phone rang, cutting through the tense quiet. “It’s Barba,” she announced, answering in a flash.

“Rollins. Good evening,” Rafael smirked.

“Can this wait? Carisi is missing and we’re- “

“Mystery solved! Detective Carisi is here.”

“At your house? He’s at Barba’s, Liv.”

Benson looked up, then stuck a U-turn and sped off towards Rafael’s neighbourhood.

“Yup. Just showed up five minutes ago.”

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

Rollins thought she detected a glimpse of mirth in Barba’s voice. “You’re on speaker. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know what you’ve done to him.”

“What?”

“I know you can party pretty hard, Rollins, but Carisi is a delicate young man.”

Rollins didn’t answer, still trying to decode Barba’s apparent mirth.

Benson leaned over and asked loudly, “Rafael, please.”

“He’s absolutely wasted,” Barba explained, savouring his dramatic reveal.

“What?”

“He’s drunk, Rollins. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone this drunk since Manuel Rodriguez snuck a hip flask of rum into the punch at Elena Silva’s Quinceañera.”

“He can’t be drunk,” Rollins interrupted, as Barba’s tone waxed nostalgic.

“I assure you: he is. You sound remarkably well, but I am currently kneeling in a puddle of Detective Carisi’s vomit.”

“He cannot be drunk. We’ve just been back to the bar. He had two drinks. The bartender confirmed.”

“Well he must have had some more. Aren’t you supposed to be a detective?”

“Has he got his phone?”

“I don’t know, Detective. I haven’t been through his pockets.”

“We’re on our way. Keep him safe,” she adds.

“Please do come and take him away before he ruins my carpets. And ask Lieutenant Benson if your expenses will cover my dry cleaning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have increased the number of chapters ^. I originally outlined for 12 chapters, but i feel that doesn't really give a conclusion to the story so it will be a few chapters longer :) 
> 
> Also I was very indecisive on the title for this chapter. In my outline, it's called "Barba Dobs Carisi In". I also considerered "Rats On" or "Rats Out". "Tells on" is very British playground but I'm going with it.


	9. Barba Reconsiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since chapter 8 was so short, here's another!

Barba hung up and braced himself to deal with the situation. “This guy must’ve really riled you up. I didn’t know you were so protective of Detective Rollins.”

Carisi pursed his lips and drew breath to make his denials but the stretch re-awoke the pain the lay just below the skin across his whole body, so he whimpered and lapsed back into silence.

Barba traced Carisi’s beaten face with warm hands. “You’re losing your touch, detective. I can’t believe you let some drunk land a punch.” He chuckled but stopped when Carisi sniffed and closed his eyes. Poor boy. He must be mortified. Barba decided to be merciful. “Rollins said something about your phone?”

Carisi shook his head mournfully.

“You don’t have it? Well we’ve all staggered out of a bar missing a few things.”

“I need to rinse my mouth,” Carisi’s voice broke a little.

Barba shifted Carisi onto the ground and went for supplies. He gathered a blanket and cushion from his couch, then assembled a tray in the kitchen.

When he returned, Carisi was curled with his back to Barba. The knobs of his spine showed through his clinging wet shirt. “Alright,” Barba set the tray down on the carpet and knelt to attend to his patient. Carisi wriggled himself to a sitting position against the wall and Barba helped the glass to Carisi’s mouth. Carisi glugged the water frantically, coughed, then it all bubbled back up through his reddened teeth.

“Sip! Slowly!”

Carisi took a few deep breaths, then a few cautious sips which he swilled around his cheeks.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. I can lend you a shirt. Liv won’t let you in her car like this.” Barba took the cloth from the bowl of warm water and dabbed at Sonny’s split lip. Carisi writhed and tried to turn his head away but Barba held firm.

“No!” Carisi’s eyes widened and he struggled away.

“What?” Barba sat back on his heels; hands surrendered on his thighs. “What’s wrong?”

“Please,” his voice was pitiful. “She can’t see me like this.”

As Carisi propped himself up, his head came away from the wall and Barba noticed the brown smudge left on the paper. He touched his hand to the back of Sonny’s head. He saw blood and gravel on his fingers. Barba slid in closer and placed his hands back on Sonny’s head. Sonny winced but didn’t stop him. He ran his hands slowly through the hair, but when he pulled his hands away to check for more blood, thick clumps of grey hair fell away too. “What the hell?”

Then Carisi burst into tears. Barba was completely taken aback. He sat motionless for a beat as Carisi’s body jerked with sobs.

“Hey, hey, what’s this? It’s alright. I’m not mad. The wallpaper was horrible anyway.”

Carisi gurgled as snot and tears filled his nose and mouth. He drew up his knees and hid his face.

Barba put his arms around Carisi, squeezing to still the convulsive sobs that rocked Carisi. “Shhh you’re okay.”

As Barba knelt, his arms wrapped around a man that he would, until recently, have considered little more than a colleague, it struck him for the first time that maybe something odd was going on. He had been so surprised at Carisi’s turning up drunk, and then fearful for his soft furnishings, that he hadn’t stopped to ask himself, why? Why would Carisi come to him? Why would a detective, drunk beyond comprehension and fresh from a fight, decide that an assistant district attorney’s house was the place to go? And come to think of it, why had Rollins scrambled Lieutenant Benson to look for him. He was a big boy. An SVU deployment seemed a bit much for a drunk man wandering Manhattan. And this, now. Carisi sobbing and clinging to him like a baby possum.

“Talk to me Carisi. What’s going on, here?”

“We were at the bar,” Carisi croaked into Rafael’s shoulder, “and this guy was harassing Rollins and then I got lost, but I know New York? I don’t know… I don’t know how and he, they, then they found me,” he choked.

Barba felt the weight of the man in his arms. ”Go on…they found you and they took your things?”

Carisi nodded miserably but didn’t say anything else. His head bumped Rafael’s chin with each admittance.

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Barba looked up to the ceiling, already strategizing. They could track Carisi’s phone easily, and hopefully the thugs would be stupid enough to use the cards. “Carisi? How many men? How old?”

Sonny wailed and the sobbing resumed at full strength.

“Oh, Sonny!” Barba pulled Carisi tighter against his chest and rocked him gently. “Okay. Later. We’ll talk later. You’re safe now.”

For several minutes, Barba held Sonny. Sonny’s tears seemed to break in sets like waves. They would ease off and Barba would relax his bear hug, only for the next set to break with a noisy sob and Barba would squeeze Sonny tighter again, as though to hold him together. Barba could feel the warm tears soaking into his shoulder.

He found himself staring over Sonny’s head at the wallpaper. He hadn’t just been making Carisi feel better; the wallpaper really was disgusting. The blue colour, at least, wasn’t too offensive, but the art nouveau loops and concertinas created an unsettling impression of faces which shifted with your perspective. And now it was marked with a swipe of dried blood a couple of feet off the ground, stuck with gravel and clumps of hair, leaving the suggestion of a large grey dog. 

Barba’s thighs were burning with the awkward half-elevated position required to be able to shelter the taller detective under his chin. Carisi seemed to have stilled, and he was almost silent now. Barba deemed it safe to move and relieve his straining muscles (and possibly salvage his shirt).

“Sonny?” he asked softly.

No reply. Just damp breaths against his shoulder.

Barba pulled back, still gripping Sonny’s arms to steady him. Carisi’s head was lolling on his chest.

“Carisi? Talk to me?”

Carisi flopped, a dead weight. Each slow breath gurgled slightly.

“Carisi! Wake up now.” Barba pushed him up against the wall with one flat hand against his pec. With the other hand, he nudged Carisi’s shoulder with his knuckles, then patted his cheek. “Come on, Sonny. Don’t pass out on me now. Benson’s nearly here. You don’t want Liv to see you blacked out, do you? Come on!” Barba tried anything he could think of.

“Sonny!” Barba helped him back onto the floor. “Open your eyes!” He pulled out his phone and dialled. “Rollins. You better be almost here.”


	10. Barba Panics

“We were talking and he just blacked out.” Barba’s voice was high and garbled.

“Is he breathing?” Rollins pressed.

“Detective Tutuola, Manhattan SVU, we need a bus…” Barba could make out Fin’s voice in the background.

“Uh,” Barba clamped the phone between his shoulder and cheek to free his hands. “Yeah, yeah he is,” he confirmed, feeling the warm huff of air against his skin.

“Keep his airway open,” Rollins ordered.

“Mhm…” Barba concentrated. He touched Carisi’s chin to angle it back but pulled his hand back at the feeling of something slimy against his fingertips. “Wait…” From this angle he could see a trail of white fluid smeared across Carisi’s chin and down his neck. “Oh…”

“What? Barba! Talk to me!” Rollins sounded very far away.

Barba wracked his brain for another explanations, anything other than his first instinct. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t anything else. Sonny’s jaw was streaked with semen. “Hurry,” he said quietly.

“Five minutes,” Rollins promised. “You said he’s unresponsive?”

“He’s out cold. Amanda please: what do I do?” Barba cursed himself for always ducking those first aid workshops.

“Okay counsellor. I’m going to walk you through this, okay? We need to keep track of his level of responsiveness.” Rollins spoke slowly and Rafael was grateful for that.

“I’m ready.” He wasn’t, but hoped to manifest some confidence.

“Pinch his fingernails.”

“What?”

“Do it! Hard as you can.”

Barba wiped his hands on his pants and laid the phone on the carpet, putting it on speaker mode. He lifted Sonny’s limp hand. The skin was slick with sweat. He squeezed the nail of Sonny’s thumb, hoping for some miraculous resurrection.

“Have you done it? Did he react?”

“Nothing.” Barba was still holding Sonny’s hand. He realised his fingers were cramping. He looked and saw that he was still pressing Sonny’s nail. He let go and Sonny’s arm dropped with a thud.

“Okay, uhh, okay,” Rollins stalled, trying to think of where to go next.

“Is that bad?” Barba shouted. It felt bad. All of this. Was very bad.

“Let’s just focus on getting him into the recovery position so he doesn’t choke.”

“I can do that.” Well, he’d seen enough people do it on late night ER reruns. Carisi needed him now. Time to man up.

“Let’s get you on your side, hey detective?” He arranged Carisi’s arms so they’d support him, then rolled Carisi’s body onto his side. Sonny’s lanky body was deceptively heavy. Or maybe panic was making Rafael weak.

Rollins remained quiet as he sorted Carisi. Barba’s phone, lying on the carpet, broadcast a background rumble of engine noise with the occasional siren or shout being picked up and amplified as a possible voice. The clock on the wall ticked slower and slower. Barba was out of ideas. Carisi was in the recovery position. The ambulance was coming. The air seemed more dense, weighing on Barba.

“What now, Rollins?”

“We’re coming,” was all she said.

He took the pillow from the tray he’d prepared and tried to slide it under Carisi’s head, but then he worried about his airway and took it away. The blanket, he figured, was a fairly safe bet. He hadn’t used it in years. It smelt musty and reminded him of old friends sleeping on the floor in his college room. “Nice and cosy,” he appraised his work.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He’d forgotten that Rollins could hear all of this.

He tried to check Carisi’s pulse. He’d seen it on television, so he tried the two fingers pressed under the jaw. His stomach lurched into his mouth when he couldn’t feel anything. “How do I find his pulse, Rollins?”

“Under the jaw, or the wrist. Don’t use your thumb.”

Was that a pulse? Or just his own heart throbbing? He pressed harder, then slightly to one side. “Not working, Rollins,” his voice tightened.

He couldn’t feel anything. His mind raced ahead to thoughts of defibrillators and Sonny’s body bucking on the carpet as they tried to bring him back, but then he tuned back in to Sonny’s noisy breathing. He was alive.

“Sonny-” Maybe Sonny was awake, just deep inside himself. He would be so alone and frightened. “They’re coming, Sonny. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But did he? Barba had no idea what he’d do if that soft bubbling breath stopped. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed Sonny’s shoulder. “Come on, detective. What about our lesson tomorrow? You want to be better for that, right? Come on, then. If you pull through, we can have lessons every week. You’ll be an ADA by Christmas.”

“Is he still breathing?” Rollins cut in.

“Yes,” Barba checked.

“Good. We’re coming,” she repeated.

Then Barba thought of of counting Sonny’s breaths. That was the sort of thing that paramedics wanted to know, wasn’t it? He fiddled with his watch, twisting the face and willing the hand up to the top. It reached twelve and he started counting, eyes flicking between Sonny’s gently expanding chest and the jerky second hand. “Nine breaths in a minute,” he reported. He congratulated himself on doing something proper and medical, but immediately he wondered if nine was good. What should it be? He tried to count his own breath to see if his count was more or less than Sonny’s, but it made him think so much about breathing that realised he’d been holding his own breath. He lapsed back into anxious, silent waiting.

“He sounds…really tired, Rollins,” he updated her. Carisi’s breathing had definitely slowed. And sometimes there were pauses of what felt like minutes between breaths. “He’s…. fading,” he could only bare to hint at the terror that lapped at the shores of his mind.

“Nearly there. Hang on.”

In the last few minutes before the roar of blue lights swept up to his house, Barba swore he could feel Sonny drifting towards the light. Looking back, he could only explain it as being like when you could feel someone’s eyes on you, but in reverse. When Sonny had first blacked out, it had felt like he was _with_ Sonny; a silent, unresponsive Sonny, but they had been together in the room. Now he felt like a custodian watching over a thing, like he was the last person awake as the world slept. What if when the squad arrived, Barba was alone in his hallway with a body, not a man?

When the squad and the ambulance finally arrived, Barba didn’t move. Olivia took his shaking hands and steered him away so the paramedics could get at Carisi. “You did good, you did good Rafa.”

Voices filled his hallway. He didn’t know how they had got in. Had he opened the door? He couldn’t remember moving from beside Sonny’s body. Amanda was there, holding Sonny’s hand as the paramedics checked him, counting and reporting and numbering every quantity of life they could measure: “resps seven, pulse fifty-four, GCS six.” Fin held the door open, forcing it back against the coat stand, but still the stretcher creaked and scratched against the door frame on its way out.

“He’s in good hands,” Olivia touched his cheek and he let her hold him.

“He was going under, Liv. I thought he was going to die.”

“I know, I know.” She rocked him gently and he buried his face in her hair.

The house was suddenly numb and empty. They had rattled Carisi out to the bus and now it was just him and Olivia. “Let’s get your things and follow them, hey?” she hummed.

He stood and swayed against the bannister while she hunted for his keys, wallet, and coat.

She took his hand and rubbed her thumb hard over the knuckles. “Come on. He still needs us.”

Rafael nodded and pulled himself together enough to put on his coat. They stepped out into the night.

Fin waited on the doorstep: “Amanda’s gone in the bus.”

“Did the paramedics say…?” All the fears and questions that swelled in Barba’s chest caught in a bottleneck as they rushed into his mouth.

“They’ll take care of him, counsellor. He’s tough.” Fin’s certainty was reassuring. “You alright counsellor?”

“A little shaken,” Barba admitted, but in the fresh air he steeled himself. The hospital. Carisi wasn’t out of the woods yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly confident with the first aid in this chapter. And the other medical bits are partly researched and partly remembered from obsessive periods watching Holby City and Casualty. GCS refers to the Glasgow Coma Scale which is used to measure conciousness/responsiveness on scale from 3 (coma/death) to 15 (fully awake).
> 
> And again I have increased the expected number of chapters. We love actually planning.


	11. Guilt All Around

Benson drove them to the hospital. She noticed Barba shooting her glances from the passenger seat, but then he’d catch Fin’s eye in the rear-view mirror and turn back to the window without saying anything.

His eyes glazed over as New York sailed by outside. The rain had stopped, but water still pooled and beaded on the ground and the parked cars, refracting the lights and amplifying the ceaseless, ever-wakeful city. Barba felt numb. His fingertips were rusty with blood. Sweat dried in his shirt. The car’s heating lifted and spread the smell of vomit that had seeped into his pants.

Suddenly the question that had been irritating Barba but hovering just outside of consciousness appeared. “Why were you out looking for him?”

“Rollins thought someone had taken his phone. She got a bad feeling and called me.”

Barba nodded. He was sure that Carisi arriving at anyone else’s house like that would have screamed, ‘bad feeling’, but evidently not to him. His stomach was clenching and turning over and over. He felt sick. He thought of asking Olivia to stop the car to let him catch his breath but then realised he’d be delaying their getting to Carisi just so he could have a little sidewalk freakout. Selfish. Again.

After a few more minutes of silence, his guilt forced him to speak, “There was no bar fight, was there?”

“No, Barba. Not while Rollins was there, at least. He must have been attacked later. Her working theory is that they followed and mugged him.”

Rafael decided not to contribute his own horrible suspicions about what might have accompanied the mugging. 

Still in silence, they parked, and Benson led them along the familiar route to the ER. They were shown into the relatives’ room. Olivia drew breath to protest, but then thought of the hours she herself had spent convincing concerned families to leave their loved one, and relented. Amanda was there already, pacing the room from one side of an astronaut mural to the other.

“I need a word, Olivia,” Barba announced. Fin and Amanda looked up wearily but hopefully. “In private.” He shot them an apologetic look.

Benson nodded and they stepped out, heading silently down the corridor and around the corner to a forgotten alcove where someone had left a coffee machine to leak water onto the green linoleum.

Barba didn’t know how to begin. He stalled. “You want one?” he gestured to the faded drawings of cappuccinos, utterly misrepresenting the gritty coffee that the machine actually dispensed.

“Sure,” said Olivia softly.

Barba inserted a few coins he had scoured from his pockets, pressed the buttons, and waited as the machine rumbled and gurgled, dispensing steaming coffee into cardboard cups. He handed one to Olivia and wrapped his hands around the other. It was good to have something to hold, even if the coffee’s only other virtue was its heat. “Um. When I was looking after Carisi…. I saw something. I don’t know….I could be wrong. I hope I am.”

“Go on,” she coaxed gently. She recognised the frown and tight lips of Rafael’s expression. She saw it every day at SVU. It was a face that said, ‘I want you to know this, but I don’t want to tell you.’ 

“I think there were fluids? On his face. I could be wrong…but I’m pretty sure.”

“You mean…” Fluids tended to mean one thing and one thing only in SVU.

“I think he was raped, Liv.”

“Oh God.”

“It could have been consensual? Maybe we shouldn’t rule that out?”

“So he’s at a bar with Rollins, she leaves, he goes for a quickie with some guy in an alley, then he hops on over to your place?”

“No. You’re right. I just didn’t want…”

“I get it, Rafael. Okay. Right.” Barba watched her switching from friend to Lieutenant, looking into the distance over his shoulder and strategizing. ”I’ll have a quiet word with a doctor about a rape kit, or taking some samples at least. Let’s not say anything to Rollins or Fin, not until we’ve spoken to him. I’ll send them home when we know he’s out of the woods.”

Barba nodded.

Benson looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath. “Did he say anything?”

“He wasn’t making a lot of sense. But not specifically, no.”

“Oh God, Carisi,” Olivia suddenly looked ten years older, putting a hand to her mouth and shaking her head.

Rafael touched her arm. “I’m sorry. Again, I could be wrong.”

“Thank you for looking after him.” Olivia hadn’t failed to notice harassed look in Rafael’s eyes. “I know you don’t normally see that side of special victims. It can be a lot… not just for the vic.” She tried to make eye contact, but Rafael bowed his head. “It’s okay.” She touched his shoulder and he stiffened.

“I’m not the victim.”

“Rafa, you’re always scolding me for saying that.”

“I thought he was drunk. He turned up at my house with a beaten face and I was joking about him, saying that he shouldn’t be getting into bar fights if he wants to be an ADA sometime.”

“You aren’t to blame, Rafa. You couldn’t have known he-“

“I could! Rollins told me he wasn’t drunk! She insisted! If I’d just listened, I-“

“What, Rafa? What difference would it have made? It was already too late. He had already been attacked and there’s nothing you could have done about it.” She tried to ease his guilt.

“I was teasing him, Liv. He had just been raped and I was joking about him paying for my fucking dry cleaning.” He balled his fists, staring at the straining white knuckles.

Olivia went to console again, to tell him he had done his best and that it wasn’t his fault: everything that she’d heard from captains, friends, and boyfriends over the years in attempts to console. But then she thought about what she needed when she tortured herself with all the places she’d gone wrong. Sometimes you’re not looking for absolution, just acceptance, so she reached for his hands and he let her take them. She swung them gently, then pulled his stiff body to her chest, stroking his hair the way she did with Noah when he’d had a nightmare.

He focused on her blazer, tracing the weave of the fabric over her shoulder. “How do you do this, Liv…every day,” he breathed. “I don’t know how to….know this about him.”

“He’s still Sonny,” she whispered.

His grainy stubble scratched her cheek, but she let him bury his face and cry. For a few minutes, they just stood together in the fluorescent hospital glare, desperate for contact with someone who understood.

“Lieutenant?” A doctor opened the door gingerly, “his bloods are back.”

In the corridor, the squad waited for news. Rollins knew this hospital, she knew the endless corridors and mopped floors and cold green walls, hell she even knew most of the nurses. She had waited in this same corridor dozens of times with Fin or Liv, waiting to be allowed in with a victim, to take their statement.

This time they were all there. Fin stood with his hands in his pockets, resigned and weary. Barba refreshed his emails obsessively, not to read them but just for the connection to his world of justice and order. Rollins leant against a wall, breathing slowly and resisting the expanding urge to start speculating. It never did any good, but if they could piece together something, anything!

Finally, she could stand it no longer. She turned on Barba. “Why didn’t you call a bus?”

He looked up from his phone, tired and bewildered. ”I thought he was drunk.” It sounded lame, but it was the truth.

“You saw his face! His injuries! Or did you miss the gaping hole in the back of his head?”

“He said he’d started on some men who were harassing you. I thought he’d been hurt in a bar fight.” Barba was so defeated and exhausted that he almost sounded bored.

“Oh so it’s my fault now? He got hurt defending my honour, is that what you’re saying?” Scorn dripped from her words and burnt the linoleum floor.

“Hey now, Rollins,” Fin interjected.

Barba had no desire to defend himself. He felt awful anyways; might as well let her vent.

Rollins wound up for another attack, but they stood to attention as Barba and Benson approached with the doctor, who clasped a clipboard apprehensively against his chest.

“You were right,” the doctor nodded to Rollins, “his blood alcohol was pretty low, consistent with a couple of drinks a number of hours ago.”

“So the blackout? It was the head injury?” Rollins asked quickly.

“We’ll have to wait until he’s fully conscious to be sure, but we don’t believe his head injury to be serious.”

“Then how did this,” Rafael gestured to the white coat and sterile hospital walls, “happen?”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid.”

“What?” Rafael was too tired for this.

“GHB,” Benson spoke softly. “He was roofied?”

“Or he took it recreationally.”

Rollins opened her mouth to assert that Carisi would never, but Benson placed a hand on her arm. They all knew that.

“Would that make a person look drunk?” Barba knew he was fishing for an excuse for the way he had ribbed Carisi, but the question was already out of his mouth.

“Yes, definitely. Both share similar signs: loss of coordination, confusion, dizziness, nausea and vomiting, unconsciousness….and potentially coma, aspiration, respiratory arrest and death.”

This doctor didn’t subscribe to a sugar-coated bad news delivery method then, Barba noted.

The doctor continued. “GHB is a sedative and especially when combined with alcohol, it’s very easy to overdose. But he’s stable now. He’s been lucky.” The doctor made an effort at a smile.

“And his other injuries? His face?” Rollins pressed.

Barba glanced up anxiously. If he had noticed…the stuff on Carisi’s face….surely the doctor would have? Barba wasn’t ready to stand in this corridor and discuss Carisi like a vic-of-the-week. 

“None are life threatening. He’s a lucky guy; seems to have avoided a broken nose. I suspect he might have broken a rib but since it clearly hasn’t punctured the lung, it’s not too much of a worry. He’ll be sore for a few days but then all good.”

‘I doubt he’ll be “all good” for quite some time,’ thought Barba. The doctor hadn’t mentioned suspecting a sexual assault, but maybe that was discretion rather than negligence. Someone should say something. He should say something. They needed to do a rape kit before he was cleaned up. He stared at Benson and hoped she would understand.

“So it’s good news, overall. It’ll be a few hours before he comes round. Always a pleasure, Lieutenant,” the doctor nodded to Benson. “We’ll take good care of him.” He turned to walk away.

“Doctor! A word, please.” Benson caught up to him and they disappeared into an office.

Barba blew softly out of his nose. Of course, it could have been worse, but overdose didn’t exactly seem lucky.

“Someone tried to rape Carisi?” Fin frowned, puzzled.

Barba pushed his hands into his pockets. “Rollins - any idea how he was roofied?”

“There was a guy at the bar: young, dark hair, wearing a suit. He bought our drinks. He’d paid before I could stop him,” she asserted. “I…I think I left before drinking mine.” She rubbed her face.

“So he was going for you, but got Sonny when you left?” Fin fitted the pieces together.

“I guess so.” Rollins leant against the wall and let out a slow breath. Guilt squirmed in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to steady herself.

“It’s not your fault, Rollins,” Fin stepped in. “You couldn’t have known what was about to happen.”

She wasn’t looking at him. “I should have ordered the drinks again. You never never _never_ accept drinks from a strange man; that’s the first rule of drinking.”

“That man tried to roofie you. He could have raped you. You did nothing, Rollins.” Fin tried to help.

“Yeah, Fin, I did nothing. One phone call and I left him in that situation. Of course he drank them. He’s a man. Someone else touches your drink, every woman knows it’s dead. How could I assume he’d know too.”

Barba tried not to listen, not to be there. He didn’t trust himself to weigh in without revealing what he’d seen smeared across Carisi’s grey skin.

“You aren’t responsible for being on your guard around every man, Rollins.”

“Yes, I am. We are. You have to be. You’ve done this job a long time, Fin. You know what men can be like. They beat the shit out of Carisi, took his phone and his wallet. They could have killed him, Fin. Carisi could have died.”

Benson reappeared, wringing her hands.

“Is he okay?” Rollins pinched her thumb, willing the pain to calm and distract her spiralling brain. Her guilt could wait; Carisi could not.

Benson faced her detectives. They had been dragged from perfectly pleasant Friday evening plans into this miserable place. “You heard the doctor: it’ll be hours before he’s even conscious. Everyone sitting here like zombies won’t do him any good. Go home. Get some sleep.”

Rollins and Fin stood to protest.

“He’ll need you fresh tomorrow, finding the men responsible. I promise I’ll call if anything changes. Go.” The order was soft but firm.

“Give him our love,” Rollins glanced at Barba as she and Fin left reluctantly.

“And Rollins, I think it would be best if you didn’t talk to Carisi about the evening, just until we have his statement so we’re clear what he actually remembers.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Olivia turned back to Barba. She didn’t even suggest he leave, and Barba was glad. He wasn’t in the mood to argue and there was no way he was leaving.


	12. An Awkward, but Necessary, Conversation

They made their way back to the relative’s room and arranged themselves on the foam couches. Benson’s friendship with some of the nurses had yielded a clean pair of scrubs for Barba, the only downside being the static generated whenever he shifted against the synthetic couch coverings. The lights had dimmed automatically at midnight, but they’d used Barba’s discarded shirts and trousers to form a makeshift light-shade for the LED lamp on the coffee table. Neither slept, but neither spoke in case the other had miraculously found sleep. Besides, what was there to say?

They must have slept because what felt like only twenty minutes later, a nurse was tapping on the window and telling them Carisi was awake.

“Did you sleep?” Olivia asked.

“Must have,” Barba didn’t have the energy spare for pronouns.

They stopped outside Carisi’s room. Barba peered through the plastic slatted blinds. Sonny looked no better. In fact, under the bright white lights, he looked considerably worse. “Are his family coming?”

“Soon.”

“Liv. Would you mind if…if I spoke to him alone? Just for a minute?” Barba had been rehearsing this request for hours. This conversation, the one that approached with a sickening necessity, was Olivia’s area of expertise. She had practised thousands of times with hundreds of vics in this same hospital, but Barba felt it was his and Carisi’s to have first.

“Sure. I’ll get coffee.” She touched his shoulder, and he felt weight of her trust in that simple concession. “We’ll all get through, Rafa. Carisi will get through.”

Barba nodded and knocked gingerly on the glass.

Carisi lifted his chin slightly, which Barba took as an invite. He pressed down on the handle, feeling the cold metal against his stiff fingers. He told himself he was moving so slowly to be quiet and non-threatening, but really he was scared to face Carisi. He had seen him at his most broken; how could anything be the same after that? But the door handle was fully depressed and there was nothing more to delay Barba.

Barba took the visitor’s chair and dragged it up to Carisi’s head, negotiating the tangle of wires on the floor. The chair scraped across the linoleum. Barba tried to ignore the thumping in his chest and compose himself before speaking.

Carisi looked like a saint laid out in a cathedral alcove. His hands had been placed wrists up on the blankets like a benevolent king remembered in stone. His face was gruesome – swollen and splitting. Barba forced himself to look. He felt a wash of relief when he realised that someone had sponged Carisi’s chin clean.

“Hey, detective,” he smiled, feigning normalcy. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Carisi licked his lips. He couldn’t raise his head but rolled his neck and tracked his eyes across to fix Barba with his gentle gaze. “Hey, counsellor.”

“How are you feeling?” Real imaginative, Barba. Olivia would know what to say. He should have let her take the first run at this.

“Like a…dog…that’s been…” he fished for a witty simile. “I feel like shit, counsellor,” he gave up. “My face feels like a balloon. Like a very hot, very sore balloon. Do I look terrible?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Brilliant. Don’t let Amanda see me like this. She’s only just got over my moustache.” He laughed, then winced. “Oh God, I still have all my teeth, don’t I?”

“Smile for me?”

Carisi cracked a grin. Unfortunately, the stretching of his lips reopened the wound which oozed dark blood into the field of stubble across his chin.

“All good. Pearly whites still intact,” Barba reported. Maybe he was doing a good job? Maybe things between them could stay as they were? Maybe…he hardly dared to hope it….maybe this would even bring them closer together. He had got Carisi to smile, at least? “You’ve got a bit of…uhh blood on your face.”

“Big DisGrace!” Carisi chanted.

Barba stared at him. Had Carisi cracked?

“It’s Queen! Queen! Freddie Mercury? ‘We will rock you’? I know you don’t get out much, counsellor, but you must know Queen!”

“Thank you counsellor. Yes, I get the reference. I was just a little taken aback.”

Carisi tried to lift his arms to wipe his chin but all that happened was a slight shoulder shrug. “Sorry. My arms don’t seem to be working. I don’t what they’ve put in these drips but I can barely move. Maybe I tried to escape in the night and they had to paralyse me,” he grinned cheekily at Barba, flashing crazy eyes.

Barba stared back, wrongfooted by Carisi’s apparent mental state. Well, everyone dealt with things differently. Personally, he favoured a massive whiskey and walking loops of Central Park but come to think of it, faux jolliness seemed entirely on brand for Carisi.

“Would you mind, counsellor?” Carisi presented his chin.

Barba pulled his folded tie from his pocket and mopped at the blood. “You might as well. You’ve already ruined a shirt and pants set,” he teased, thoughtlessly.

“What?” Carisi frowned.

“Nothing. Don’t worry.”

Carisi didn’t say anything for a while. “No offense, counsellor, but why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you are. But shouldn’t it be Liv?”

“You don’t remember last night? The nurses didn’t tell you…?”

“There was some guy in the hallway, Alzheimer’s or something, and he was taking all his clothes off and singing about the Duke of Wellington and the nurses all kinda ran out to that. So they didn’t tell me…tell me what?” This his face clouded over, as though with realisation. “Oh God, I didn’t drunk dial you, did I?”

“No, Carisi.” Barba rubbed his face, way out of his depth. He thought about calling for Olivia, but she hadn’t been there, watching Sonny’s breaths slow in those eternal few minutes on the rug. And did he really think that hearing it from Olivia would be better for Carisi? Or was he just backing out?

“Honestly, last night is all a bit of a blur. That scotch is no joke. I see why you like it; gets you hammered after just a few drinks. Efficient.”

Barba stared at him. This was good?? If Carisi didn’t remember coming round, maybe he didn’t remember the preceding events? And maybe Barba had got it all wrong anyway? But then reality caught up with him. Carisi couldn’t be left in blissful ignorance.

“You came round to mine last night, Sonny,” Rafael began tenderly.

“I did? I am so sorry. God, I am mortified. I was beyond wasted like honestly I haven’t been that drunk since my second cousin’s bachelor party, well technically it was for his step-brother but he’s Italian too so we count him as a proper brother, making him basically my second cousin as well so-“

Barba touched Sonny’s arm to derail the inevitable Carisi family anecdote.

Sonny got a grip on himself. “I have no idea what happened. But I apologise. That was very unprofessional. I don’t normally get drunk like that. I hope this won’t impact on our law classes?”

“No, of course, law lessons will be unaffected,” he promised. “Carisi: do you literally not remember anything that happened last night?”

“Honestly nothing. Did I say something last night? Sorry. I get….a little overfamiliar when I’m drunk.”

Carisi was known for being, at times, a little tone deaf, but was he really oblivious to the strain in Barba’s voice? Rafael took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Carisi, you weren’t drunk.”

“No genuinely,” Carisi continued merrily, “I think I must have drank myself to the level beyond drunk. One minute I’ve scored a date with Rollins, the next I’m waking up in the ER feeling like I’ve gone several rounds with the F train. Must’ve gone a bit far with the Dutch courage, eh?”

“You were roofied, Carisi.” Barba cut in, unable to stand it any longer. “Roofied. Not drunk.”

“What.” Carisi’s burning cheeks froze as an icy dread swept through him. “Roofied like…?”

“Someone spiked your drink when you were at the bar with Rollins. Do you remember that?”

Carisi shook his head slowly, mouth falling open.

Barba took his limp hand and squeezed. “She had to go early. You tried to walk home. Do you remember?” He pleaded, not ready to explain what had presumably happened next.

Carisi rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. His breathing was picking up. He was struggling to contain the panic rising in his chest. It had been bad enough thinking he’d been drunk at Barba’s: screaming old opera and ranting about American pasta sauce as he was wont to do while drunk. But this?

“Tell me everything.”

“The men found you and robbed you. And attacked you. _That’s_ why you’re in the hospital.”

Carisi said nothing. He closed his eyes and was now taking very deep, very measured breaths. Why hadn’t he wondered why he was in hospital? What was wrong with him? Why had he been content to assume that he’d just drunk himself to oblivion and then…and then what? Stepped in front of a taxi? Fallen from his flat window and smashed his face up? Why hadn’t he questioned that?

“Carisi?” Barba squeezed his hand and brought him back from the edge of the spiral.

“And then I went to your house?”

“Yes. I have no idea how, but there you were on my doorstep.”

“And you called a bus?” He desperately needed a timeline at least.

“Fin did. Rollins was worried so she summoned everyone to find you.”

Carisi was silent, staring at the chequered blue pattern of the hospital duvet. His brow was wrinkled as his sluggish brain tried to work through this tale he’d been told. None of it resonated. It felt like an anecdote starring a friend of a friend, the kind of thing that you recognised as horrible but was distant enough to feel like an arc from a soap opera.

Barba watched the green readout on the monitor across the bed. He liked following the spikes in their cyclic pattern, watching the pulse and breathing rates flutter like a regency suitor watching the rise and fall of his beloved’s chest.

“So I was mugged. That’s why my face is all…”

Barba could feel the truth climbing back from his tongue into his throat with each second he delayed. He had to get the words out. “Carisi, I think you might have been sexually assaulted.”

Carisi stared at him with round eyes. Barba feared another round of sobs, but instead Carisi seemed to be thinking. He was breathing slowly and staring right at Barba, then his eyes tracked up and he let out a slow exhale. “No.” His voice was cool and firm, like that was the end of the matter.

Barba blinked and opened and closed his mouth. “Yes. I think you were sexually assaulted last night,” he repeated. He had seen Liv talk to enough victims to know to hold back on the r-word.

Carisi was frowning at him.

“You told me that the men from the bar had followed and attacked you.” He felt the patterns of a courtroom argument forming. “You were incapacitated by the GHB. I think that once they realised they had roofied you and not Rollins, that they followed, robbed and then sexually assaulted you.”

‘Bedside manner, Rafael, not courtroom bulldog,’ he chastised himself, though too late.

“Why would you say something like that?” Carisi raised his voice.

“When you were passed out, I think I saw some fluids on your face,” Barba argued.

“What?!” Carisi raised himself, wincing but pushing himself up.

Barba took up the defensive. “There were white fluids on your chin and jaw.”

Carisi’s features warped with disbelief. His face was red. His good eye bulged, the pressure reopening a cut on the bruised side of his face that trickled blood down his cheek.

“What?” He shook his head. “No no no no I wasn’t.”

“I know this is hard…” Even Barba knew he was borrowing dialogue from the bedside scene of some tired old film. He reached to hold Carisi’s hands, but the detective pulled them away.

Carisi stared at his hands, flexing the fingers and watching them tighten, the tendons standing out like puppet strings under the skin. His shoulders jerked as he tried to repress the sobs that threatened to tear through him.

“Sonny, I’m sorry…” Barba ducked his head, trying to catch Carisi’s gaze.

“No!” Carisi decided, heaving his body to the other side of the bed.

“Sonny don’t!”

He dragged his dead legs over the side of mattress and lurched forward, crashing immediately in a tangle of wires over the other side of the bed. He cried out in pain as the impact jarred his broken rib.

“Sonny,” Barba stood and moved quickly around the foot of the bed to where Carisi had disappeared down in the small space between the bed and the wall.

Barba reached down to him but Carisi thrashed out with clawed hands. “Please, Sonny.”

“Get. Off me,” he spat, writhing against the sheets that had become twisted around him.

Desperately, Barba searched for help in the corridor outside.

“Why would…“ Sonny flailed, his long limbs tangled in wires and sheets, “you say that!” he panted.

“Forget it, please, just stop!”

Sonny was yanking tubing from the ports in the back of his hands.

“Stop it!” Barba tried to grab his hands but Sonny’s fist shot out and caught his cheek.

“Get out!”

Barba barely registered the smarting pain and planted his feet. He loomed over Sonny and tried to still the hands that were ripping at hair, tubes, clothes, face. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

Sonny squirmed and cried on the floor, panting with exhaustion. Half of his face and his collar was now smeared with blood.

Three nurses rushed in and pushed Barba back. “Not now,” they shooed him.

Barba stumbled back, numb. He couldn’t see Sonny anymore through the huddle of blue scrubs, identical to the borrowed pair he still wore. He shuffled backwards into the corridor, still reeling. With shaking hands, he managed to get the door open and flee into the corridor. The door swung closed and muffled the sounds of Carisi crying and the nurses pleading and reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generally in the description for the fic and in the text I have used the American "roofied" but I wanted to throw in a cheeky English "spiked" as well. Apparently the word "roofied" comes from the word "rohypnol" but I really couldn't find any explanation of "spiked". Maybe once something to do with needles? Anyone use any other slang for this particular horrible thing?


	13. Barba's Journey Home

“Rafa?” Olivia was walking down the corridor towards Carisi’s room, her phone in one hand. She frowned when she saw Barba’s red cheek and dazed expression.

“What kind of hubristic fantasy…what made me think I could…” He was holding back tears.

“Woah, woah, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Liv. I should have let you handled it. I just thought that because I was there, I could…”

“What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t remember anything, Liv.” Barba’s eyes were wide and bloodshot. “And I told him-“

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose.

“And he basically accused me of lying and threw himself on the floor and then the nurses all came in. He was fine before. He was in a good mood, actually. He was Sonny. Why did I tell him?”

“Someone had to. You were brave, Rafa.”

She tried to hold his hands but he stood stiff, quaking with rage, spitting a confession through a clenched jaw. “I wanted to be his saviour, Olivia. I wanted him to thank me for looking after him and tell me that I did a good job, and that he’s going to be fine and I don’t need to worry, and that I didn’t see what I saw, and that is was okay of me to be LAUGHING AT HIM when he came to _my_ door at the lowest moment of his life.”

Barba’s voice was very quiet by the end, but still acrid. It frightened Olivia. “Let’s give them some spafce.” She tried to steer him away from the room where, over Rafael’s shoulder, she could see Sonny sobbing as his wrists were restrained.

Barba didn’t move. He was still staring at the floor, fists clenched by his sides, whole body tense. “I went in there, I _really_ went in there, to get forgiveness for myself.”

The door opened with a brief blare of noise and a nurse stepped out.

Barba whirled around to face her and caught a glimpse of Carisi sinking into his pillows.

“We’ve had to sedate him. I’m sorry but you won’t be able to talk to him for about an hour.”

Olivia noted Rafael’s balled fists and stepped in. “Thank you for letting us know.”

The nurse nodded and walked away to resume her duties.

Once she’d turned the corner, Rafael kicked the skirting board and swore.

“There’s nothing we can do for him here, so why don’t you go home, take a shower, get changed.” First Elliot, then Amaro, and now Barba; Olivia always seemed to find herself defusing angry men.

“I can’t. I owe him this, at least.” Barba planted his feet and stared resolutely at his shoes.

Benson was so exhausted she almost started laughing; he looked like a kid refusing to go to school. “He’s asleep, Rafa. The best thing you can do for him now,” to undo the harm you just did, “is to go home and freshen up. No judge will see you looking like that, and we’ll need warrants.”

Benson noticed Barba angle his head almost imperceptibly to one side, and she knew she was getting somewhere. She knew all his tells.

“We need _ADA Barba_ to get these men. We need you in the DA’s office, getting us warrants to track Carisi’s phone and his cards. That’s what he needs from you.”

He shifted his feet.

“Come on. Let’s get coffee. Then you’re going home. Lieutenant’s orders,” she smiled.

He could have said that she didn’t’ have jurisdiction over the district attorney’s office, that she couldn’t give him orders, that she wasn’t his boss, but taking orders felt so simple. He took shelter under the shield of responsibility that she had unfurled and let her steer him back to the relatives room.

They tidied their makeshift camp, folding the blankets, picking up their coats, and removing Rafael’s clothes from the lamp. “I don’t envy your dry cleaner,” Olivia joked, eyeing the stains on the cream shirt that Rafael had been wearing the day before.

Barba forced a weak, “ha, yeah,” but winced at the memory of cracking a similar joke to Rollins. Did everyone really think he was that obsessed with his clothes? He scrunched the shirt and forced it into one of his deep coat pockets.

“There’s a Starbucks down on the third floor.”

Barba followed Benson as she threaded her way confidently through a labyrinth of empty corridors. He thought to ask her how she knew this place so well, but then remembered that every, ‘presented to hospital,’ or ‘interview conducted in emergency room,’ or ‘rape kit refused in hospital,’ required Olivia to come here. Together, Olivia and this hospital had been dealing with other people’s aftermaths for almost twenty years. No wonder the nurses seemed so friendly.

The corridors all looked the same to Barba, but Olivia seemed confident. Occasionally they would pass someone. They’d stare determinedly forwards, only glancing to acknowledge Benson and Barba in the last seconds as they passed each other. It was only later that Barba realised how peculiar he must have looked: a tan peacoat over turquoise nurse’s scrubs.

Barba thought about hospitals, how they seemed to exist out of time. Maybe it was the wash of pale green paint and flickering, fluorescent lights, but they always felt like an island of exile in a Greek tragedy, or like some modern take on purgatory.

Barba blinked when Olivia brought them to an atrium with potted palm trees and big windows letting in grey morning light. He trailed after Olivia as she stepped up to the Starbucks counter. He patted his pockets but Olivia laid a hand on his arm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get these. What do you want?”

He went to say, ‘black, no sugar,’ on autopilot but was caught off guard by a memory of Carisi. He had called Rafael, “boring and ignorant of the power of the sugar rush,” before making some reference to McDonalds that entirely escaped Rafael. “I think I will try a venti cookies and cream mochaccino.” He sounded out each word with suspicion.

Olivia raised an eyebrow but ordered their drinks.

“Detective Benson?”

“Mr Komennski?” Olivia turned to the man queueing behind them. Her face softened. Barba recognised him as the father of a brave college student that had sought out the SVU last year: yet another success story of Hudson University’s student complaint system. Then her eyes filled with dismay when she remembered their surroundings. She shifted into work mode: console, counsel, command. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Katie. Again.” The man wiped his nose with a grey sweatshirt sleeve. ”She never really recovered from…what he did….and this time she might have really done it.” But then he remembered Barba. “Sorry. You’re busy. I’ll….”

“Not at all.” She gestured to a bench that overlooked a blue-grey street below.

The man sagged with relief. Barba had noticed that Olivia had that effect on people. He smiled and headed for the bench, hot drink in hand.

“Go home, Rafa. Get some sleep. You did Carisi proud today. I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken to him again. Coordinate with Rollins and Fin. They’ll make a start on the investigation.”

Barba conceded and left Olivia to a draining conversation with a distraught man.

He found his way outside easily, burrowing downwards like beetle seeking water in the soil.. The light was still soft and grey and the city smelt of wet asphalt. An insistent beeping broke through his haze of exhaustion. The noise awoke a sense of panic in him. He felt a vibrating against his thigh and, with a realisation, searched frantically through his pockets. Seven am. He silenced his alarm.

A single cab waited up the road in the taxi rank just up from the hospital’s main entrance. A simple solution. He made for it decidedly, but pulled up short when two girls staggered out from the ground floor emergency room exit and cut in front of him. The pair moved slowly across the pavement like the daylight had caught them out and was slowly turning them to stone. Both were wearing little black dresses, one with chunky white trainers and the other just in tights that gaped with holes. The one in trainers lifted a thankful hand to Barba. The second girl tried to copy the gesture, but plaster encasing her arm and the sling around her neck entangled her and she swayed against her companion.

A commuter rushed past on a folding bicycle. A bus carrying Saturday language students rumbled past.

Trainers girl had, by now, wrangled her friend into the back seat with a guiding hand to shield her head from the door frame. She crouched down stiffly and scooped the other girl’s legs into the footwell. Barba noticed the club stamp on her hand, and the phone number slanting across her forearm, and the missing nail on her left hand. Maybe _he_ should’ve been a detective.

As Barba watched the increasingly farcical scene in front of him (tights girl was resisting now, and slurring some club song), he sipped his drink thoughtfully. The plastic spoon straw thing scratched his lip. The drink was rich and smooth but so sweet it caught in his throat.

Finally the girl slammed the door on her friend and headed around the other side, shooting Barba an apologetic glance. The hardening morning light caught her big hoop earrings and the streaked glitter on her face and chest, turning her into a vampire caught in the sun.

Another cab pulled up soon enough and Barba settled into the back. The traffic was light and the ride smooth. Barba felt sleep pulling at his eyes, so he took out his keys and squeezed them. They were cold, and heavy, and cut into his flesh. The jagged profiles of their heads left strange indentations in his palms. 

On arriving, Barba approached his front door cautiously. He remembered locking up behind them, but had nevertheless expected some external sign of the night’s chaos. But it was just a front door.

Shower, then change, then coffee, then find and arrest the evil, evil people who’d done this.

Once inside, the rancid smell of vomit hit him first. He saw the brown smudge of blood on the paper, and the half-empty glass of water that Carisi had damn near waterboarded himself with. The blanket he had draped over Carisi was gone; perhaps they’d taken it in the ambulance? The thought made Barba feel warm and good. He was just glad it had been useful, he told himself. He wondered if Carisi had it in his hospital room, but then told himself to stop being so sentimental and get on.

Barba coughed and stepped over the puddle on the floor, heading straight upstairs. He would deal with that later.

His whole body ached as he took off the scrubs. He would have them dry-cleaned and return them. In the shower, he turned the dial up until the water near scalded him. The pain kept him from falling asleep on the floor of the cubicle. The boiling steam felt cleansing. It felt deserved.

When he stepped out, he was grateful that the billowing clouds of steam had fogged up the mirror. He really didn’t need to see his exhausted body right now.

He made his way into his bedroom and his eyes fell on his bed. It wasn’t even eight am yet. Coffee, or a nap? He felt a yawn building. He really hadn’t slept well on that couch in the relative’s room and would want to be at his best to hunt down these bastards. There would be no mistakes or technicalities for them to get off on. He messaged the squad and suggested meeting in the squad-room at eleven. A couple hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.


	14. Carisi in Hospital

When Barba fled the room, Carisi wedged himself between the bed and the wall, curled into a ball, and pressed his knees into his eyes sockets until phantasmal lights and saturated afterimages flashed against his eyelids. He had torn several leads from the ports of the backs of his hands, causing the monitors that clustered around his bed to blare sirens of panic at losing their data inputs.

He was crying, but had clamped his hands over his mouth, so the sobs just built and built inside his head and pressed on his throat and his eyes and his temples so every thought, every unwanted image and sound, was pressed against his skull.

Soothing voices began to worm their way in, forming cracks in the pressurised vessel of his head.

The nurses shared a glance that said, ‘we aren’t getting through.’ Their patient had balled himself up on the floor, twisted in a net of blankets and wires like an bird under a weighted net. From above, all they could see was the top of his head and the bare white legs that he clutched against his body.

“C’mon honey, let’s get you back into bed.” The lilting voice was the last thing Carisi remembered.

\--

After returning from the hospital, Rollins had actually managed to fall asleep. Then, barely an hour later, a ringing phone had broken through. She woke and scrabbled for her phone on her bedside table, knocking a glass of water onto to the floor. The ringing had stopped by dread mounted in her chest as she searched for her call history, squinting against the glare from the screen. If Olivia was calling at this time, something be very wrong. Then she saw that her last call was an outgoing one at 20:43 when she had rung Carisi. There was no midnight missed call. She relaxed, slipped the phone under her pillow and went back to sleep.

The second time, the noise didn’t wake her. She was stood in her kitchen and the phone was ringing. She knew the phone was in one of the cupboards, somehow, so she banged them all open and shut but the phone was nowhere to be found. The ringing stopped and she woke again. She checked her phone. 02:04 and no missed calls.

She fell asleep for a third time and this time the ringing phone was in the fruit bowl. She answered and heard Carisi screaming and screaming and then the phone disappeared from her hand. She tried to move but her feet were stuck to the floor.

By 6am, she was exhausted and sweating. She didn’t shut off her alarm for fifteen minutes, waiting for the phantom ringing to disappear. Frannie scratched at the door and she realised that the noise was not going to stop on its own. She gave up on sleep.

Her whole body felt heavy and tight but she climbed out of bed nonetheless. There was work to do. Fran watched Rollins intently, dancing back on her paws and wagging her tail.

“I know, babygirl. Momma’s moving slow this morning but I’m coming.”

The text came after she’d dressed and made a coffee. She had been expecting it but still felt sick when her phone finally pinged with a text from Olivia. She called back immediately.

“How is he?”

“He’s…still asleep. Rollins, I need you to go back to the bar with Fin and get me a name.”

“He told me last night. It was a…shop or something? His last name. Sorry. I was trying to block him out.”

“Take the bartender’s statement. And send me a photo lineup to show Carisi. This guy is our prime suspect, but we need more than your voice ID from the phone.”

“Yes, Lieutenant. But did the doctors talk to you? Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

“Everyone’s looking after him, Rollins. We’ll get the man who did this.”

\--

Carisi lay in his hospital bed, slowly waking from a sedative-induced nap. He looked around for a clock, eventually finding a small digital one in the corner of one of the monitors. It was eight o’clock in the morning. A quick subtraction and he realised he had lost another hour. He felt sick. More missing time. His shoulder hurt. He breathed slowly and told himself he had bruised it in his stupid dive onto the floor, but horrible thoughts bubbled up of all the things that might have happened to his body while he’d been sedated. He shook his head. This was a hospital. He was safe.

Carisi felt scattered. Snatches of memory and the imprints of sensation floated just out of reach, like flakes of ash after a volcano. In the last twelve hours, he remembered two at most. The sedative hadn’t quite worn off. The promise of dreamless sleep drifted before him, but the sight of Olivia through the glass made his stomach twist.

She tapped gently on the door and entered, palms raised. “Don’t worry; it’s just me. I sent Barba for a shower and some coffee.”

She was smiling a temperate smile. Carisi had studied this very expression of hers in the past, which appeared both reassuring and professional, and had even attempted to recreate it when talking to victims. Victims like him, he realised. Looking at it now, it seemed so manufactured. He knew she meant well, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. Had Barba told her the same things he’d told him? He tried to search he face for clues, for disgust or pity or….no. Of course Olivia wouldn’t think those things, even if it was all true. They were special victims. She wasn’t judging him. He was okay.

But would they have told the squad, the precinct, the borough? He was a cop. It wouldn’t be unusual for resources to be quickly commandeered to find people responsible for attacking cops. If it had happened. He felt sick again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

Olivia bobbed her head thoughtfully, still standing by the door.

Carisi’s shoulder rose, tensed against the questions he was anticipating.

Olivia couldn’t quite see his eyes from her standing angle, but thought she caught a glimmer of light reflecting on tears. “Can I give you a hug, Sonny? Would that be okay?”

He nodded, trembling slightly, and looked up at her.

She leaned over and hugged him close. He felt her hands rubbing his back, smelt her perfume, felt the tickle of her hair brushing his cheek and all at once, the image of fur in the rain appeared in his mind. He stayed very still, feeling his damp face against Olivia’s warm chest, and let the memory crystallise as he exhaled. The fur revealed itself as a large leopard print coat. He pulled back, frowning as he tried to place the coat’s owner.

“Okay?” she checked.

Now this fur coat seemed to hover in the blackspot in his head. But it didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit into anything. Who knows if it was even real? He looked back at Olivia and spoke softly. “Did I really go to Barba’s last night?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

Carisi didn’t say anything.

Olivia decided that it was safe. “Would you be able to talk me through what you remember of last night?”

“I don’t remember anything,” he warned.

She proceeded cautiously. “Our working theory is that someone slipped GHB into your drink at the bar. GHB often comes with memory loss so that’s completely normal. Do you remember going to the bar with Rollins?”

“I remember planning it.”

“You don’t remember speaking to anyone else at the bar?”

“I probably spoke to Rollins.”

Olivia stared at him. The doctor had warned her of potential memory loss, but a total blank? She hadn’t expected that. She decided to walk him through to help spark something else. “You had an altercation with some men. Do you remember that?”

“No,” he answered decisively.

“You can take you time to think, Detective Carisi.”

“Thank you, Olivia, but I don’t remember anything after arriving at the bar with Rollins.”

They needed more. Most of their timeline was completely blank. She’d tried to play it professional to minimise any muddying of the case that may come from Carisi being on her squad, but that hadn’t got her very far. “No matter how small you think it is, anything you can remember might be useful. Please, Sonny. Anything at all.”

“I don’t. Remember.”

“Okay,” she relented. “I’d like to show you some photos? Is that okay?” Olivia opened the photo array that Rollins had sent over and passed her phone to Carisi. “Look through these and tell me if you recognise anyone.”

Carisi’s lips moved, mouthing the end of the sentence with her. He took the phone and frowned at the screen. He swiped through half a dozen photos of men in their twenties with dark hair. He flicked through quickly. No one stood out. He went back to the start and looked through slowly. Face two seemed somewhat familiar but chasing that thread of recognition led Carisi to the smell of orange soda and TV static. The third face struck Carisi as suspicious. Something about the cut of the mouth made him instantly dislike the person, but he couldn’t say that he recognised him. The fourth was a total blank and every time he looked at the fifth, his eyes caught on the sweep of the cheekbones and the wide jaw. He swiped back and forward, staring at each face intently, then flicking it aside to compare it to another.

“Anything?”

Carisi shook his head. The more he looked, the more all of them seemed familiar, and he couldn’t untangle that familiarity from the fact that he’d traced every contour of all of their strange faces.

“That’s okay. It might come back.”

“Yeah,” he murmured dejectedly. Shadows sank under his eyes as he lapsed back into his pillows.

Olivia took her phone back and put it in her pocket. “Okay. I’ll let you get some rest.” She turned and went to leave.

“Are my family coming?”

She paused by the door. “Any minute now.”

“What did you tell them?” He touched his fingers to his neck and realised his cross was gone.

“That you were drugged and attacked.”

“Did you let Barba talk to them?” His voice was tight.

“No. I’m sorry, Carisi. I shouldn’t have let him talk to you first.” She looked for any indication that he wanted her to sit, to explain and to beg forgiveness, but he just nodded, still staring at the foot of his bed. She considered leaving it there, but since they had broached the subject of Barba’s disastrous conversation….. “Carisi? I know Barba told you that we think you might have been sexually assaulted last night,” she began.

“I wasn’t.” Carisi looked at her fiercely.

“I know it’s hard when you don’t have your memories but-”

“Barba was wrong.”

“Carisi, you can’t be sure what happened if you don’t remember. They took a swab and the lab are running it so we’ll know more in a few hours.”

“I think I would remember something like that that.”

“You were roofied. There are going to be blackspots,” she tried to go gently. “If you don’t remember anything, you can’t we certain.”

“There was a woman.”

“A woman?”

“I do remember.”

“Okay, good.” Olivia studied his face.

“I think…she’d been smoking. And she was wearing one of those big fur coats.” He fixed her with a triumphant stare.

It had been quite a warm evening for a fur coat, thought Benson. She took out her notepad, “where was this?”

“I don’t know I think they…they couldn’t stay. They had to go somewhere, do something.” He was staring fixedly at the base of the lamp on her desk.

“They?”

“Yeah I think maybe there was more than one.”

“Were they going out? Or coming home from work?”

“One was definitely wearing a big furry coat,” his brow furrowed, “but she wasn’t wearing like normal stuff underneath.” What he really remembered was the smooth skin and perfume. “I think maybe she was wearing one of those lacy get ups like you see in the windows around Valentines? Real complicated with all the straps and bows and things.”

She saw a flicker of normal Carisi as he chased the memory. “Like lingerie?” she offered.

“Yeah! That kinda thing.”

“But you don’t know where you were?”

“No.” He looked deflated again.

“That’s okay. You’re doing really well. Was that before or after the assault?”

Carisi looked up. “I don’t…”

“Were you in pain? Did you still have your phone?”

“I…” he swallowed but his throat was dry. “I don’t know…”

“Did you go somewhere with the women?”

“I just remember what they look like. I don’t remember!”

“Alright, Sonny. We’ll leave it there. That was very helpful. Thank you.”

Loud voices started up in the corridor. Carisi sat up, recognising the volume and the Italian slant to the accent.

“I think my sister’s here.” Carisi touched his swollen face self-consciously.

“I’ll let you be. Relax, if you can, Sonny. The squad sends their love. Let yourself heal. ” 


	15. Rochesters'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops the first late chapter! We hope not to make it a pattern.
> 
> I wondered why i hadn't been getting much writing done this week. Then I realised that it's because I've been watching the Twilight films with my friend every night which is when I normally write. But we're finished so hopefully I'll get back on schedule. Hope you enjoy this long-ass chapter (or long for me anyway).

After saying goodbye to Carisi, Olivia didn’t leave right away. Instead she made herself scarce, waiting until Carisi had been discharged and the sounds of his sister’s very voice became deadened by the elevator doors.

She sent a text summoning everyone to the squad-room and headed home to shower and change. As she looked through her shirts, wrapped in a towel, Noah appeared in the doorway.

“Momma?” he watched, “where were you?”

Wendy caught up to him and took his shoulders gently, “sorry, Olivia. Come on little man.”

Olivia held up a hand. “It’s okay, Wendy. Thank you. Come on, sweet boy.” She held her arms open and Noah came in for a cuddle.

Wendy nodded and left them to it.

“Where were you?” He held on to her, squishing his face against the towel.

Olivia sat down on the bed and lifted Noah up beside her. She wrapped an arm around him and considered the question. “I had to go…help Uncle Sonny. Like Wendy comes and helps us.”

“But Uncle Sonny’s a grown-up?”

“Sometimes everyone needs looking after Noah, even grown-ups.” God even she could tell how tired she sounded. She leant down and kissed his head. “Momma needs to get dressed now, Noah. I think Wendy’s taking you to the park!” Olivia stood wearily, holding the towel against her chest, and moved back to choosing a shirt.

He didn’t go. He sat swaying and watching her.

“Go on,” she turned back, diving down on him like a monster and tickling his belly. 

He squirmed and giggled, his voice high and climbing up and up, panting and gasping as she attacked. He wriggled on the duvet, snarling it up around him like a worm burrowing into sand. Breathless, he flopped onto his back, his little pink feet raising in surrender.

Olivia took his feet in her hands and swayed them from side to side. She realised she was smiling. “Go on, sweet boy. I need to get dressed.”

He wrapped himself in the duvet like a little sushi and rolled off the other side of the bed. He looked so small in his towering white cloak. He smiled back at her, then trotted to find Wendy, his bare feet slapping on the floor.

\--

Olivia arrived at the squad-room feeling lighter. Rollins sat on her desk, hunched over and frowning. Rafael stood next to her, jigging his leg, but whether through caffeine overdose or withdrawal she couldn’t tell. Fin gave Olivia a sombre nod. Thank God for Fin. He was sat normally in his own chair, looking much as he always did. She smiled at him.

“Well?” Rollins snapped, impatient for news.

“Carisi is alright. His sister is going to take care of him for a couple of days. Our focus is on catching whoever did this. Rollins?”

Rollins pulled a folder from her desk draw and went up to the board. “Dale Rochester,” she pinned up a glossy drivers’ license picture, “is our prime suspect. He’s the heir to the Rochester department store empire.

“So he has serious resources at his disposal,” Fin added.

“We think,” Rollins checked with Olivia who nodded, “that he tried to roofie me last night at the bar, but Carisi got hit instead. It looks like him and his friends mugged Carisi in an opportunistic attack once they realised they’d actually drugged Carisi.”

“Carisi couldn’t actually ID him but the GHB has left him pretty blank.”

“Why would a rich kid bother following Carisi to take his money? His daddy owns a multi-million dollar business that’s gonna pass to him soon. No way he needs Carisi’s cash.”

“Yeah well he clearly just gets off on the power,” Rollins growled.

Barba raised his eyebrows at Benson. No mention of the sexual assault. Maybe the results had come back from the lab and Barba had been wrong. Benson shook her head at him, almost imperceptibly. He kept his mouth shut.

“We don’t want to spook him, or he’ll be off to the Maldives on his father’s private jet before close of business. Fin and I are going to speak to him. Rollins, get TARU onto Carisi’s phone and cards. You’d think they wouldn’t be stupid enough to use them, but arrogance is a wonderful thing.”

Rollins got to her feet, but Benson held up a hand.

“Carisi did remember something last night. He remembers a woman, possibly multiple, wearing fur coats and lingerie.”

Rollins stared at Olivia. “What? When? Where?”

Olivia shrugged. “That’s all he remembered, but it’s not much to go on.”

“Sounds like strippers,” Fin advised.

“Where would we even start? There must be a thirty strip clubs in Manhattan alone.”

“It’s all he could give us.”

\--

Benson and Fin rolled up to the Manhattan branch of Rochesters’.

Fin looked up at the art deco façade. “He’s heir to all this…and he still needs to take from other people.”

They showed their badges to the security on the door and were led up through the jewellery, perfume, and homeware departments to the top floor, and through a door marked ‘private’. The security guard knocked on a dark wooden door marked, ‘Dale Rochester – Chief Marketing Operator’.

“Yes?!” shouted a voice from inside.

“NYPD!” Olivia shouldered her way in front of the security guard and banged on the door.

Faint cursing carried through the thick door, but after a few reluctant moments it opened. Benson recognised his 

“What’s this about?” Dale Rochester slouched in the doorway. He had wedged a hand into the tiny hip pockets of his slim grey trousers, aiming for a nonchalant air, but the narrow-eyed glances between the detectives and the security man spoke volumes.

“I’m Detective Benson. This is Detective Tutuola. May we come in?” Olivia laid on a charming smile, as though she was actually dazzled by this douchebag and his corner office.

“By all means,” Dale purred, opening his arm wide to welcome them in. “Thank you,” he dismissed the security curtly.

Olivia appraised the minimalist bamboo furniture and geometric white rugs. “Nice place,” she watched out the corner of her eyes as she surveyed the view from the floor length windows.

Fin took up position by the door, hands folded. He’d clocked Olivia’s asshole-charming gambit from her simpering tone. He agreed with her strategy. This was a man who liked power, and liked people to appreciate it.

“I like the desk.” She didn’t, but it was clearly expensive.

“I’m very glad. A panda gave up his home to produce that bamboo.”

Olivia made a slow circuit of the room.

Dale’s shoes creaked as he shifted his weight, stood coolly in the middle of the room.

Out the corner of her eye, Olivia caught him fiddling with a large silver watch and eyeing Fin. “Sorry to bother you, Mr Rochester, but were you at ‘the Temple’ bar last night?”

“I was.” His voice was smooth, but guarded.

“We’re speaking to everyone who was there in connection with a robbery next door.”

Dale nodded thoughtfully.

“What time were you there?”

“About eight o’clock. I can’t say that I saw anything unusual.”

“Were you alone?”

“I was with friends.”

“We’ll need their names please. They might have seen something.”

He paused, then went over to his desk. “Of course. I’ll write them down for you.” He sat down in a vast white chair, some ergonomics meets modern art twist of plastic, and started writing on a pad.

“And what time did you leave?”

He looked up, licked his lips, and answered, “about eight thirty.”

“Where did you go after that?” Fin stood straighter.

“I’m sorry but I don’t see-“

“You might’ve seen them fleeing the scene.”

“We went somewhere else to continue the evening.”

“Where? Just to exclude you.”

“I didn’t think I was a suspect-“ he frowned, standing up with his list of names.

“Just procedure, Mr Rochester.”

“After Hours. For drinks.” He addressed himself to Fin, stressing the ‘drinks’.

Olivia nodded to herself. Strip club.

Dale turned to Olivia. “This might be irrelevant, of course,” he lowered his voice, “but I did see a couple of men stood on the sidewalk when we came out. They were wearing hoodies and trainers.” He gave her a hard, meaningful stare.

Fin curled his lip. “Can anyone corroborate your story?”

“My credit card, I’d imagine. And…hmm what was her name…Destiny. Or maybe it was Ramona. Whichever girl had the silver thong and pasty combo. Now if you’re finished?” He strode towards the door.

Fin gave him a cold glare as he left.

“Thank you for your help, Mr Rochester. I’ll be sure to follow up on your…information. And please stay in the city, in case we need you to identify the men you saw.”

They headed down the stairs, both fuming after their conversation.

“Well, I think he certainly put one strip club to the top of our list. You and Rollins wanna make the visit?”

“We’ll be there at opening,” Fin smiled.

\--

Carisi let his sister drive him home. He let her ask all her questions in a long stream. She didn’t expect or allow him to answer so it was easy enough to tune it out.

His body was heavy. It felt numb and deadened, and partly that was the medication, but it was partly a kind of battered resignation that sat rather more in Carisi’s mind than in his leaden limbs. He lifted his hands, turning them over in mid-air while Bella carried on. He thought of arcade first person shooter games from childhood beach holidays, thought of the large, leathery that would extend from his child’s body into the screen, rattling off a rain of bullets at anything that moved. He'd always expected his hands to also turn to cracked, 

Bella drew a breath and charged off on another anecdotal crusade. She’d run out of things to ask Carisi and moved on to updates from her own life.

Carisi reached out with his bony, white hands and turned the air conditioning up to max. He revelled in the feeling of it blasting over him. It wasn’t pleasant, sure, but it was lots. He could surrender to the sensation and drown out the thoughts that bubbled and stewed in his dazed head.

“Can you cut that out?!” Bella turned the dials back down, cutting the sound of rushing air. “And Danny! Oh you will not believe…” And just like that, she was off again.

Carisi had turned his attention to the glove compartment. It took him a moment to understand the latch but with a particular combination of pressing and pulling, it yielded and revealed a cache of cheesy CDs. He picked up a stack, took the one from the front, and put it to the back. The plastic cases made a nice ‘clack’ sound against each other. He did it again. And again. He carried on, shuffling the deck of CDs around and around. There was ribbing down the sides of the cases, but the fronts were smooth. He liked that. They were cold and hard in his hands. He picked up speed, reordering the CDs with a blank expression. He added another stack. Five, ten, fifteen crap compilation albums rattled through his hands as he put them in their places, and then did it all over again.

Bella watched him, out the corner of her eyes. She was still talking, almost mindlessly, about every family member or acquaintance she could think of. She knew Sonny wasn’t listening, and that he didn’t care. She knew from the concentrated expression, the fast, shallow breaths, the desperate, repetitive motions of his hands abusing her music collection. She knew the ways he moved, and the ways he worked. She could recognise his hurried, sloping walk at a hundred paces.

“Anyway so then Harry called me up and said that Jude had accused _me_ of…” They came to a complicated intersection and just for a moment, her monotonous story was interrupted.

The rhythm of rattling CDs tripped. In her periphery, she caught Sonny glancing up at her.

They made it through the lights, “…accused me of being off with him, so I’m thinking…” she continued.

The shuffling CDs continued as before. Carisi breathed out slowly.

She knew her brother like the lines on her hands, like the contours of her ring. She knew he wasn’t listening to her story, but she also knew that this relentless sensory input was exactly what he needed when something was on his mind. When they were children, it had been assembling Lego castles while she told him about her elementary school nemesis, or at an older age, braiding her hair while the radio played at full volume. He needed words streaming through his head and something in his hands. Enough input, and it would keep his thoughts at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am abandoning the pretence of having any idea how long this is gonna be.
> 
> Also I am struggling v much to make this American so I may have to do a posh English AU...


	16. After Hours

Olivia and Fin returned to the squad room and updated everyone on their conversation. Barba was still there, apparently having made himself comfortable at a hot desk.

“We were only there five minutes but already…” Fin shook his head, “I don’t trust him.”

“Okay, we do still need evidence,” Olivia reminded them. “Rollins and Fin, ‘After Hours’ opens at five. Ask every girl you can if they saw Carisi, and especially a Ramona or a Destiny. And check Mr Rochester’s story.”

“Will do,” Rollins raised her eyebrows at Fin.

“Any updates on his phone?”

“It phone must be off, or dead. But we’ve got alerts on his cards. They’re used, and we’ll know.”

“Liv, this kid seemed bad to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a record,” Fin suggested.

“I agree. Rollins and Fin, until the club opens, I want you to follow up on this list.”

“Has anyone heard from Carisi?” Barba stood up.

“He’s been through a lot,” Rollins assured him. Rollins shrugged on her jacket. “He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ thought Barba, but he nodded sensibly.

“A word in my office, please Counsellor,” Olivia summoned him.

He followed her in and she closed the door behind them. “I haven’t told Fin and Rollins about our theory. I’m waiting on the results from the lab.”

“I’ll be discrete. In the meantime, is there anything I can do? Warrants, or legal stuff, or…can I help canvas for witnesses or something?”

“Thank you, Rafa. We’ll need you soon, but for now…”

“Right. Of course.”

Benson sat down behind her desk but Barba didn’t move.

“Maybe I could arrange something…flowers or….chocolate. Something for him from the squad?”

“I don’t think he’d like the fuss, Rafa,” Olivia said gently.

“No. No he wouldn’t.” Still, he didn’t leave.

“You look tired, Rafa. Why don’t you go home and get some rest for when we’re ready to arrest Dale. Or whoever,” she tried to keep an open mind.

Barba shook his head. “I can’t. No point. Do you need anything? Coffee? I’ll get you coffee? Lunch?”

“Barba. Please. I understand, but there’s nothing for you to do right now. Take a walk.”

“Would it help to know how he got to my house? I could ask my neighbours if they saw…”

“Yes,” Benson jumped on a task for him. “Filling in gaps in the timeline is always good.”

Barba picked himself up, straightening his back and blinking away the fog. “I’ll do that. I’ll keep you updated, if I find anything.”

As the door closed behind him, Olivia breathed a sigh of relief.

\--

At 17:30, Fin and Rollins rolled up to the strip club. They had been through Dale’s list, calling in to various offices and luxury apartment blocks. Every man on the list shared his surname with an eminent law firm, economist, apartment block, or tech company. All had been equally odious, though exhibiting varying degrees of anxiety in the face of detectives. The stories had been broadly consistent: two had gone to the bar, then home, with only the third man saying he had also gone to the strip club.

The blue spring day faded to grey as dusk settled over the city. Lights blinked on as New York’s nightlife woke up. The strip club itself didn’t open onto a main street, but tried to counterbalance those seedy implications with a rather kitsch marble column and marble floor combo.

The blue spring day faded to grey as dusk settled over the city. Lights blinked on as New York’s nightlife woke up. The strip club itself didn’t open onto a main street, but tried to counterbalance those seedy implications with a rather kitsch marble column and marble floor combo. Two security guards in immaculate suits stood either side of the entrance like lion statues outside a London bank.

Rollins walked straight to the head of the empty queuing lane and showed her badge to the men on the door.

He scrutinized her badge, nodded and straightened up, but didn’t immediately let them inside. “And what can we do for the NYPD?” he asked in a low, melodious voice.

“One of our detectives was attacked last night. We think one of your girls helped him. We need to speak to them.”

“This way please.” He led them down a dark corridor.

A woman in hot pink lipstick held out her hands to Fin and purred, “Your coat, sir?”

Great, an actual sexy coat stand, thought Rollins.

The security man dismissed her like a bothersome kitten and led them out into a large room. Sensual, ambient music played over speakers, accompanied by low conversation and the clink of whiskey glasses as a small group of men already got to toasting the birthday boy.

“Witnesses to interview, Fin,” Rollins ribbed him. He wasn’t even staring at the half-naked waitress serving drinks to the table in front of them, but it was compulsory for her to make a joke like that whenever they went to a club or a party.

It was actually Rollins who found herself falling behind their guide to take in more of the club. There were only a few clients, or guests, or however they liked to think of themselves, but Rollins guessed it would fill up later. She had to admit that the place did feel luxurious in the low lighting. All the furniture was dark, not black, but some anonymous wine red. The marble floor gleamed. Everything smelt of perfume and floor cleaner and money. She could imagine Wall Street wannabes reclining on the couches, tucking fifties into a garter belt just so some college girl would keep stroking their ego.

Rollins realised she’d come to a halt to stare at the girl on stage. She seemed to have an entirely fluid spine, freeing her to oscillate like the stingers of a jellyfish. As Rollins watched, she climbed down from the pole and tore off her translucent bodysuit. A whoop went up from a corner booth, but Rollins didn’t look away. She wanted to, or at least to look at the woman’s face, but her flowing gestures directed the eye to the silver thong.

“Destiny,” Fin said into her ear.

She jumped. She had been so enraptured that she hadn’t even noticed him return to her.

“Rochester described her robot bikini and the….pasties,” Fin explained. “He said he was with her.” Fin went up and had a quick conversation with the DJ.

“Thank you Destinyyyyy!” The DJ announced, prompting a flutter of bills onto the stage. “She’ll be out on the floor in just a minute so you can all enjoy her company.”

Ramona finished a spin and took her cue to leave the stage. She approached the DJ booth with a look of wounded confusion at having her set cut short, but Fin and Rollins intercepted and introduced themselves. This close and Rollins could see the pink highlight across her collarbones.

Rollins pulled herself together and looked up into her eyes. “Do you know a Dale Rochester?”

“He’s a regular… a regular asshole.” She swept her blonde braids over her shoulder and adjusted the metal chain that kept her silver sci-fi panties on her hips.

“Was he here last night?”

“I gave him a dance about nine thirty.”

“Asshole how?” Rollins pressed.

“Just the type that talks about you while you’re right there like you can’t hear. But he’s grown on me recently; he was feeling generous last night.”

Rollins nodded. Well that was that corroborated, but it did leave an hour between when he claimed to have left the bar and a confirmed sighting at the strip club. And it was, even at a drunken amble, barely a twenty minute walk. She resolved to ask security for CCTV and credit card receipts to see when exactly he had arrived.

“Anything else different about him last night?” Fin asked.

“Usually he brings more friends.” She paused to think, then remembered his hands resting dominantly on the armrests. “His knuckles were all split. He said he’d been boxing.”

Rollins and Fin shared a glance. “Any chance you saw an injured man last night? He would’ve been tall, blue eyes…”

“No,” Destiny answered sharply, staring between Rollins and Fin.

They followed her sight line and saw the security guard waiting with folded hands.

“Thank you!” Rollins called after the woman as she scuttled for backstage. They returned to the security man. “We’d still like to talk to the rest of the girls.”

“It’s early so most of them aren’t out on the floor yet.” He led them to the same doorway Destiny had passed through. “The girls are through there,” the held a bead curtain open to Rollins, but caught Fin’s shoulder as he moved forwards. “Not you. They’re changing.”

The ambient music was louder back here in the cramped corridor. From behind a plain white door came the muffled chatter and shrieks of laughter that seemed a universal aspect of girl’s changing rooms. She didn’t want to call out ‘NYPD!’ and start a stampede. She knew that plenty of the girls here wouldn’t have their papers, and she wasn’t interested. Rollins knocked on the door.

“Yes?” A girl with curly blonde hair opened the door a crack.

“Detective Rollins,” she showed her badge to the suspicious blue eyes, “could I come in? I need to ask you all about something you might have seen.”

“Cop!” the girl called back into the room. There was a flurry of shouts and curses.

“I’m not ICE!” shouted Rollins, glaring at the unhelpful blonde who was grinning at her.

The door-keeper checked over her shoulder, “they’re dressed.” She stepped back and let Rollins in.

Rollins blinked in the fluorescent lighting. After the dark, plush club with its soft pink lighting, this cramped, white dressing room was jarring. Fifteen or so girls stood about in outfits that Rollins would not have described as ‘dressed’. They were cramped in among chairs and vast bags spilling lingerie and hair curlers. The mirrors that ran around the walls like a belt amplified the sea of skin and glitter. Rollins could also count at least four fur coats draped over the chairs or heaped on the floor.

“I am not here to arrest anyone.” Rollins held her palms up. “I think one of you talked to my partner, maybe helped him, last night?”

There was some tittering and a couple of scoffs of, “help one of them?”

“He was drugged and attacked last night. And maybe one of you saw him?”

No one replied.

“Please,” she sank. “His name is Sonny. He’s tall and thin, greyish hair, Italian?” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to describe or humanise him.

“I think…” A girl dressed in a tangle of white straps spoke up, “maybe it was me.” She reminded Rollins of a fly bound in spider silk, or a disintegrating mummy left with only a few tasteful bandages. “There was some guy really beat up out the back.”

“Thank you!” Rollins seized on the promise of more information. “Could you come and talk to me and my partner?"

“I guess,” the girl picked up a big leopard print coat and pulled it on over her bodysuit. “Mari,” she hissed to the slim girl in blue on her left. “We were both out back when we saw him,” she explained to Rollins.

Mari seemed resistant, but Sonya took her hand and led her out after Rollins into the dark club where Fin waited. Mari folded her arms over her chest.

“Was it…” Rollins swiped through the gallery on her phone and quickly found a shot of Carisi in a purple scarf, holding Jesse wearing a matching little hat, “this man you saw?”

“His face wasn’t so pretty as that,” Mari pouted.

“Because he had a black eye, Mari. Yeah that’s him.”

“He already had a black eye?”

“Yeah. He was face down out the back, beat pretty bad.” Sonya explained how they had found him and helped him into a taxi up on the main road. “He was a sweetheart. Send him back for a free dance when he’s feeling better.”

Fin took their details for possible follow up questions. “Thank you, ladies.” He cast his eyes round the club, noticing a few groups who’d claimed booths since they’d arrived. “I hope you have a good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise some Barisi interraction next chapter.
> 
> Also Destiny and my understanding of strip clubs is heavily based on the film 'Hustlers' which i would highly recommend.


	17. A Walk in the Park

After his talk with Olivia, Barba had not gone home, despite having had every intention of carrying out a door-to-door, scouring for witnesses among his neighbours. Heading down in the elevator, he’d even fantasised about uncovering a crucial witness, but once he reached the street, the cold air snapped him out of his delusions. Maybe someone had seen Carisi, but they’d probably assumed him to be a drunk; after all, Barba himself had. And even if they’d had their concerns, they would most likely have kept their head and carried on. This was New York, where anyone beyond a six foot radius was none of your business. Who was he kidding, to think that someone might have memorised the cab’s license plate? Or studied the cab driver and committed his face to memory?

Outside the precinct, he found himself standing still in a softly falling rain. Dusk was falling and, although the day had been warm, darkness brought a wintery chill to the street. He could go home, but every time he walked through his hallway, the stain on the wallpaper reminded him of that horrible evening and all assumptions he’d made. He could go to his office, but it would be quiet, and besides what was there for him to do? It was Saturday night and Olivia had been quite clear that he was benched, for now.

He crossed the road and sat down on a metal bench, which was freezing even through his trousers. Now he was still, he could appreciate the roar of the city around him. There was always a siren going somewhere. The trick was working out if it was coming for towards you, or screaming away another direction.

He pulled out his phone. Raindrops quickly colonised the screen, but a smear of his sleeve cleared them away. He composed a text before he could change his mind.

_18:13  
Hi,  
You don’t need to reply. I’m sure you want a bit of peace right now, but I’m just checking in. Sorry for how I talked to you at the hospital. It wasn’t my place and I did a terrible job.  
Barba _

\--

“Thank you. That was really nice.” Sonny pushed his plate away from him, arranging the cutlery to hide the mound of uneaten pasta.

Theresa picked up the plate, the fork rattling against the china. She started to clear the table, but Sonny stopped her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do it tomorrow. Thanks, though.” He pushed his chair back with a scrape and stood up.

“You wanna watch a movie? Do you want some tea? We could make popcorn?”

“I think I’ll just go to bed. Sorry.”

“Really? It’s only just gone six.”

“Well I didn’t sleep so good last night, did I?” Apparently tranquilisers were pretty good at knocking you out but didn’t exactly induce restful, peaceful sleep.

“Right. Yes. Of course. Have you had your pain killers? I’ll get you some water.” She spooned the clump of tortellini into the bin.

Carisi cringed at the sound of the fork scratching on the ceramic. Every sound echoed through the heavy air.

Theresa banged open a succession of cupboards. “Where are the glasses?”

“I’ve had my pills.” 

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re in pain.”

“My ribs are broken, Theresa,” he reminded her through gritted teeth. “I’ve taken them. Now I’m going to bed.”

Theresa abandoned the dishes and rushed past him into his bedroom. “I’ll make your bed up.”

“It’s fine.” He tried to inject some grace into his voice, but he couldn’t mask the tension. “I just want to sleep,” he murmured.

He reached the doorway and saw that his sheets had been stripped. “Theresa what…?”

She lifted a folded stack of sheets and covers out of a wicker laundry basket that Sonny definitely didn’t own. “I thought your bedding needed a wash. Besides, it’s always nicer to sleep on clean sheets. You’re welcome.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow. Really. I’ll just sleep on the mattress.”

“It’ll only take a minute.” Theresa found the top corners of the sheet with a triumphant, “right then,” and threw the sheet over the bed with a snap of her wrists. The sheet billowed and filled the room, knocking the ceiling light and making the shadows tilt and roll across the room as the light swung to and fro.

Carisi watched the pantomime unfold, arms folded, body sagging against the doorframe. His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweats. He left Theresa to her battle and headed back into the kitchen. He felt a twinge of pain as he read Barba’s message, but realised it was because the smile that spread across his face was straining his battered skin. He out tapped a reply.

**18:14  
Hi,  
Don’t worry about it. I didn’t handle it well either. Sorry.  
Sonny :)**

_18:14  
I should have let Olivia talk to you first. I was vain and selfish and I told you in the worst possible way. I shouldn’t have done that. _

He looked over his shoulder. Theresa’s entire torso had disappeared into the duvet cover as she tried to turn it right-side out. Yes, she was being kind and helpful and trying to do the best by him, but he couldn’t stand the warm, stagnant air any longer. 

**18:16  
Can we talk about something else?**

_18:17  
Sure…so… did you see the football?_

**18:17  
I need to get out. Theresa is nurturing me to death.**

_18:18  
We could go for a walk? If you don’t mind the rain, that is?_

**18:19  
Yes. Thank you, Rafael.**

_18:20  
I’ll be 10 minutes. Meet you outside._

\--

The evening deepened as Barba walked to Carisi’s neighbourhood. High up, yellow light diffused through gauzy apartment curtains, already drawn against the blue evening. Barba recognised the big band opening for a family gameshow leaking from an open third floor window. The Groups of men lounged smoking outside bars.

Barba had agreed eagerly to Carisi’s suggestion, mostly just happy that Carisi wanted to see him at all, but as he got closer, other thoughts trickled into his consciousness. What would they talk about? Carisi had said, “something else,” but when was the last time they’d spent time together, just the two of them, outside of work. Then he remembered the last time, and the blood and the vomit and the tears and his stupid, stupid, fucking jokes.

He walked quickly. By the time he reached Carisi’s building, he was hot and sweating inside his jacket. The rain had eased off, just leaving him generally damp. Carisi stood outside his building at the top of a small set of stairs. He looked tall, silhouetted against a haze of mist in a long coat. He hadn’t noticed Barba puffing up the sidewalk. His gaze was lifted to the apartments opposite, giving his profile a noble cast.

“Carisi!” Barba hailed.

Carisi turned. The streetlights cast a flat block of white light across his forehead and shrouded his black eye in shadow, but his smile was warm and mellow. “Barba.”

“Rafael,” Barba found himself correcting Carisi.

“Oh, we get fun Rafael in the evenings, then?” Carisi pushed his hands into his pockets and descended the steps.

“The life of the party,” Barba assured him. This was good? This was normal? But then again, he had felt the same for the first few minutes of their disastrous hospital talk. “Shall we?”

They started up the block. Each of Carisi’s loping strides covered twice the ground of Barba’s caffeinated little gait. He felt like a chihuahua trotting beside an Irish wolfhound.

“There’s a little park just up here,” Carisi suggested. “It always smells of…well…let’s just say its popular with the local teenagers, but it’s nice enough. There’s a good statue of this neighbourhood cat from the fifties.”

“That sounds very pleasant. Let’s set our course for the cat.” Why was he slipping into British aristocrat? ‘Stop trying to be funny, Barba’, he warned himself. His little joke in the hospital hadn’t ended so well. He should learn from his mistakes.

The silence felt easy, companionable. Then he wondered if Carisi felt the same, or if this was agonizingly awkward for him. He opened his mouth to ask, ‘how are you’, but bit his tongue. He marvelled that he normally asked that question so freely. Now it felt so vast, too vast for an opener. He couldn’t face the prospect of Sonny answering truthfully, but if Sonny lied for his comfort, to avoid an awkward pause, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. “So…how’s Theresa? She’s staying with you, right?”

“Yeah, she’s good.” Sonny breathed out slowly. “She’s been busy. She’s deep cleaned my bathroom and sorted through my kitchen utensils, all voluntarily. She’s on a real minimalist kick right now. She’s been watching the tidying up show on Netflix? Honestly, she’s on a crusade against stuff. Another couple of days and my cupboards will be empty. Earlier she asked me if my lemon zester ‘sparked joy’.”

Barba chuckled. “And does it? Spark joy?”

“It _sparks_ some good seafood. And that’s all I ask of a lemon zester.”

They passed through a metal gate, whose wrought iron bars were twisted and clipped into fleur-de-lis. They had to go single file to pass between the hedges whose tiny leaves were heavy with water. The darkness smelled wet and green.

Once they were out onto the main path, Barba tried to find his way back to that happy, normal conversation. Maybe they didn’t even need to talk about…the thing that had happened? If they could talk normally, then maybe things were still normal between them? “Do you like cooking, then?”

“Not to sound like one of those Pinterest Italian recipes that go on for pages about massaging the garlic, but yeah, my grandma taught me.”

Barba laughed. It was so genuine, so unforced, that it shocked him. The tightness across his chest eased. He reached out a hand, let it brush the wet foliage so the water ran down his fingers. Barba slowed as the path sloped down into an underpass.

“The path just goes under the cycle route. It’s fine. No muggers, I promise.”

Barba let himself feel charmed. Together, they strolled into the mouth of the underpass.

The tunnel was barely ten metres long, and was indeed clear of muggers. It felt like a fairy tale cavern with a dripping mossy ceiling where, given a few more thousands of years, stalactites might have grown. The wet asphalt path was silvery with light reflected from the tunnel mouth.

Their breath sounded like rushing wings in the echoey space. They had fallen silent again. Barba tried to fill it. “Did you come here as a teenager? Perhaps as a rebellious, disenfranchised youth?”

Carisi turned his face to look at Barba, a funny smile twitching his lips. Then, when his eyes met Barba’s, he stopped dead. “Did I do that?”

Barba came to a stop. They stood halfway through the tunnel. He had left too much time, been too slow to lie.

“Did I hit you?” Horror and a cloaked sense of remembrance spread across Carisi’s face.

Barba touched a hand to his face automatically and winced. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

“I hit you.” Carisi stated quietly, marvelling at the words. “I. Hit you.” He rolled the words around his mouth like a mouthful of poison-laced tea.

“It’s fine.” Barba tried to resume their walk, but Carisi was rooted to the spot.

“Show me. What did I do?” Carisi stepped towards him. His footsteps echoed against the wet tunnel walls.

Barba exhaled, then tilted his head to show Carisi his cheek. “It really isn’t that bad. High school baseball did me worse.” The joke fell and died on the concrete.

Carisi studied Barba’s face, but all was shadow. “I can’t see.” He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out his phone. With shaking hands, he turned on the flashlight.

“Carisi…” Barba called him softly, taking a step backwards.

“I can’t see it. I need to see what I…” Carisi repeated. His hand jerked up, pointing the blaze of light at Barba’s face. The white light blazed and filled the tunnel. From the path up in the park, it must have looked like some divine revelation was taking place in the damp underpass.

“Ow! Sonny!” Barba raised his hands to shade his blinded eyes, but Carisi lifted the light and craned his neck.

“Show me…” he breathed, the light scattering across Barba’s skin as his hand shook.

Slowly, Barba lowered his hands and held his watering eyes open against the beam of torchlight. “Okay, Carisi, you can look.”

Carisi saw Barba’s bruise, well, his bruise really, since he’d made it. The light revealed every burst capillary and hair follicle of Barba’s cheek. Carisi studied the colour, the inky purple, and how it reached around his cheekbone and enveloped the eye socket. He held his phone six inches from Barba’s face. The light revealed the pale green of Barba’s iris, and the pupil shrinking away from the stunning scrutiny of the flashlight’s gaze.

“I don’t know what happened,” Carisi whispered, but even that sounded large in the tunnel. “I know I did this but…”

“I know, I know, but it’s fine.” Barba knew to speak softly, not pulling away from Carisi’s study anymore. “I forgive you.”

Carisi kept the light trained on his face, but his eyes were glazing over, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“Sonny,” Barba called to him, to wherever deep inside the black void of memory Sonny was. He raised his arms slowly, setting his hands on Carisi’s, and slowly lowered the phone like he was disarming a suspect.

Sonny was staring over his shoulder at the brick wall, panting hard.

Barba touched his cheek, then pressed harder, deeper into the flesh until the pain pushed back, pressure blossoming under his fingertips. “Carisi don’t worry. It was in the hospital. We’d just spoken. I upset you-“

Carisi didn’t shift his focus but started speaking in a fast, urgent voice, like he was possessed by the spirit of oracle. “The things you said…they’re all in my head and I don’t remember any of it but it’s in my head now.” He was shivering.

Barba tried to touch his arms but Carisi flinched and continued.

“I’ve tried to remember. I went over it from the bar and there’s sounds and colours and this sick feeling in my stomach, and then you told me….those things and they’ve filled it in but I don’t recognise any of it and then when I try to…” he gasped for breath, a bubble of saliva breaking on his lip, “I try and then it’s like I’m just making things up and it’s not…mine. It’s not my memories I can’t…” he broke down.

Barba stepped in and put his hands on Sonny’s shoulders. “You don’t need to remember anything. I know it’s hard, Sonny, I really do.”

Carisi dropped his head. His voice was muffled, but he mumbled, “I want the nurses back. I can’t deal with this I can’t be awake. Please….but I can’t be asleep. All the night is missing and I just want to go back to that but I can’t stand not remembering.”

Barba hugged him close. “Don’t worry about remembering it. You don’t have to make a statement yet.”

At those ill-chosen words, Sonny jerked backwards, stumbled, and cracked his head against the brick wall.

Barba shouted wordlessly and rushed forwards, but then held himself back. Carisi needed his space. The bruise on his cheek reminded him not to make that mistake again.

This time, however, Carisi didn’t flail or scream. He staggered, steadied himself with a hand on the wall and took several deep breaths. Slowly he reached a hand up and felt he back of his head. He pulled his hand away and saw blood on the palm.

Barba stayed frozen.

Carisi stared at the blood for a few moments, breathing slowly, slower, slower. His nostrils flared with each deliberate inhalation. “I’m okay. It’s just the old scab.”

“You’re okay. You’re safe.” Barba tried to imbue his voice with solemnity, trying to make up for his flippancy the night before. He mirrored Carisi, watching him like a wary boxer in the ring. He stayed himself with some slow breaths, then tried something new, something he should have asked the moment he saw Carisi on his doorstep: “What do you need, Sonny?”

“I think…I’m ready to go home. To bed. To sleep.”

“I’ll take you back, okay. We can walk slow. I’ll take you up.” Barba moved slowly to raise his arm, like a dancer in slow motion. “How do you feel?” he asked, then quickly specified, “are you dizzy? Nauseous? Blurry vision? Headache?”

“Nah. I’m just tired. I’m sorry. I’ll get a grip. Thank you.” He took hold of Barba’s outstretched arm and let himself be steered around. When he spoke he sounded dazed, but serene. “Thank you for coming out with me, but I’d like to go home now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't manage to write much this week and I felt I'd lost a bit of momentum, but reading and going out and taking a break has got me through this little writers' block and I am back on track with the story. Thank you for bearing with me.
> 
> Tune in next time for Barba tucking Sonny in x


	18. Bedtime

Later, Carisi wouldn’t remember the walk home as a series of steps, or even as a series of disjointed sentences, but rather as a series of sensations. In the tunnel, panic had flared in his chest and he had stumbled towards the event horizon, marking the border of blind, thrashing terror. But then everything had become still, and he had breathed, and stepped back from the edge. Now his thoughts felt distant, tethered vaguely to his walking body, but that was probably for the best.

With Barba guiding his elbow, his body had walked home through quiet streets. The rain had brought out the scent of the city. Each deep, divine breath drew the world into his lungs. There was laundry detergent, clean and innocent, a banner of cigarette smoke, and fat, rolling and spitting in preparation for the late night stoners and drunks. Each time they passed a doorway, perfume and aftershave and beer and the clink of glasses would surge out in a wave and wash over Carisi’s wide-eyed face. 

His head was blissfully empty. He was his senses. Walking along, Barba humming softly, turning over the change in his pockets, he was at peace.

\--

Fin tucked the security tape cassette into his jacket and followed Rollins back down the private staircase to the strip club floor. The manager had obfuscated for a few minutes, his face pinched into a triumphant little smile, but Rollins had convinced him that handing over their footage was in his, and his club’s, best interest. “So we know that Rochester was definitely here with one other guy from 21:20.”

“The other two from the bar must have split before then,” Rollins stalked down the corridor to the front door, brushing off the ‘guiding hand’ of the security guard, who had escorted them even up to the manager’s office.

A queue of eager young men had to formed outside. They pawed and called to Rollins, already buoyed up by a couple of hours in the pub, but she swatted them aside. “Out the back, she said?”

“Yeah,” Fin narrowed his eyes at the three of the whitest frat boys he had ever seen, who were currently serenading Rollins with a poorly-chosen rap song about strippers, poles, and thongs. “Let’s check for cameras, then head back to civilization,” he flashed a warning glare at the boys.

The girls had described Carisi’s position, but that spot was now occupied by a brown puddle. Rollins pulled on her gloves and squatted beside the puddle. A small, dark object poked above the surface. Her hand closed around it and lifted the muddy object to the streetlight.

“Carisi’s mustang!” She recognised the rearing horse keyring, and the familiar combination of small and large SVU office keys attached to it.

“He was really lying out here,” Fin’s voice was low, almost reverential, as he studied the cigarette butts and trash bags, the bulging, moving trash bags. Fin shuddered.

Rollins bagged Sonny’s keys slowly, sealing them in a sterile evidence envelope. Evidence. Evidence in Sonny’s case. Evidence against the men who attacked Sonny. She rubbed at the horse’s flank through the plastic, trying to rub away that mud and reveal the glossy black shine. She’d bought him that, two secret Santas ago.

“So he was definitely here. Should we call scenes of crime?” Fin asked.

“No point. Rain.” Rollins’ tipped her toe into the puddle. It left a brown waterline on the toe of her boots.

Fin noticed her sunken shoulders, her slow exhale. He tried to catch her eye. “We have Carisi’s keys, though. Rollins. Rochester won’t see daylight ‘til retirement.”

“We can prove that Rochester was here, and that Sonny was here, but we can’t prove it was him who attacked Sonny.”

Fin was quiet for a moment, studying the brick. When he spoke, his voice was dark. “We’ll get him.”

\--

Carisi hadn’t really spoken since asking to go home, and Barba would have been worried if it weren’t for the soft, open expression and general smile on Carisi’s face. Even in his spaced-out state, Carisi let them into his building and up the stairs.

“Where did you go?!” Theresa shouted before Carisi had even turned his key in the lock.

He let himself and Barba into the flat. “I needed a walk. Can I sleep now?” He grunted, voice heavy and petulant like a sullen teenager.

Barba noticed the sudden weight in Carisi’s body. His smooth face had creased as it crossed the threshold. Barba smiled awkwardly at the sister. “Hi. Just bringing him back.”

Carisi pushed past Theresa and lurched through an inner door.

“You can tuck him in and sing him a lullaby for all I care. Nothing I do is any good.” Theresa pulled a jacket from the back of the front door.

Its leather sleeve whipped Barba’s cheekbone. 

“God, sorry! Look, I’m doing my best, but I need to see somebody else, be somewhere else, right now.” Her eyes were red, lashes clumpy with mascara.

“Sure. Of course.” Barba leant in. “Take a break. I’ve got it from here.”

Theresa slipped her phone into her back pocket. “I really am trying,” her earnest voice cracked, “but he won’t be looked after.” The door shut behind her. Barba could hear her on the phone, arranging a venting session over drinks, no doubt.

“Carisi?” Barba called into the still air. Carisi hadn’t come back. It felt wrong to be alone in his space. Barba considered just leaving. Carisi had disappeared. He was clearly tired of Barba’s company. But then again, he couldn’t just walk out and leave him alone. “Hello? Carisi? Is it okay if I come in?”

He took another step into the kitchen. It was clean and tidy, and this clearly pre-dated Theresa’s arrival. A matching set of modern stoneware pasta bowls sat on the draining board. A spider plant flourished on the windowsill and, Barba noticed with a smile, the cookery books were organised by colour.

Barba glanced up, but there was no sign of Carisi. Snooping like this felt wrong, but he was intrigued by this glimpse into the real, normal, happy Carisi. He could even see the notepad beside Carisi’s laptop, covered with intricate doodles. Barba couldn’t resist. He crossed the room and picked up the pad. Rows of flowers bloomed along the lines, interspersed with hedgehogs. An unusual decorative motif, but charming, Barba decided.

He heard a jingle playing through cheap speakers, somewhere in the back of the flat. He decided to follow it. He approached the open door and knocked gently. “Carisi?”

“Rafael.”

Carisi was sat on the bed. He gripped a classic radio in his hands and was twisting a dial, climbing through crackling, dead frequencies. He had changed into a grey tee shirt and blue check pyjama trousers. His socks had mice on them.

Barba stood in the doorway. He felt useless, but he realised that he didn’t want to go. Carisi was still frowning at the radio, honing in on a retro music station.

The room showed the same thoughtful organisation as the kitchen, at least under the surface: there was a bookcase of horror and classic spy novels, organised into matching classic edition sets; slender blue glass bottles of aftershave lined up on a shelf by the mirror; and a collection of succulents, all green and budding. Recently, however, chaos had come to this space. The doors of the wardrobe stood open and the drawers trailed their tee shirts onto the carpet. A box of papers lay open beside the bed, old forms and certificates strewn around on any available surface, held in place by forgotten cups. The room smelt damp, and of illicit cigarettes and instant coffee.

“You wanna sit?” With a final tweak of the radio’s aerial, Carisi resolved the radio’s intermittent hissing resolved into a Motown classic. When Barba didn’t move, he looked up. A ceiling light above him brought out the once angular bridge of his nose, now softened and purple with swelling. He patted the duvet beside him without looking up.

Barba sat cautiously. The mattress sank under his weight, tipping Carisi against him. Barba stiffened, but Carisi seemed, if anything, to ease into their accidental closeness. Barba watched Carisi’s white hands turning the radio over, fingers ghosting over the silver buttons, rubbing across the classic red leather cover. He wanted to move, to shift so he couldn’t feel Carisi’s chest expand with each breath. The room felt so closed, so airless.

“Do you want to sleep?” Barba braced to stand up.

“No,” Carisi answered quickly, “don’t go.”

“How’s your head?”

Carisi hung his head and reached his outside arm up. “Hmm…okay I think. I think it’s scabbed over.”

Barba nodded. “You look tired, Sonny.” He stared at the wall and studied a framed Carisi family photo, hung in pride of place.

“You’re not even looking at me,” Carisi teased.

Barba turned his face, lips parting in surprise when he realised how close Sonny’s face was to his.

Carisi’s mouth twitched up in amusement, then he looked straight ahead again. “I am tired. But if I close my eyes, there’s just...all the thoughts come rushing in.”

“I know what you mean,” Barba spoke quietly. SVU cases often returned to him as he lay in bed, in the no-mans-land between a busy day and sleep.

“What do you do, when you don’t want to think?” Carisi asked. His shoulder bumped gently against Rafael.

“I drink,” he answered honestly, “and watch the news. There’s always something more horrible happening, and it kinda dwarves my problems…not that yours aren’t bad or worth…” He sighed and stopped trying to fix. He trusted Carisi to understand the sentiment.

“You ever heard the phrase, ‘to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul’?” Carisi asked into the silence.

“I didn’t know you read Wilde.”

“I think there’s something in that, like distracting the mind by bombarding the body with input.”

Barba bit back the completely inappropriate joke that had appeared on his tongue. Instead he mustered a, “I can see the sense in it...”

Carisi reached for the radio and turned until the Gloria Gaynor faded into white noise. Then, he pulled out his phone and started something playing. Barba heard an English voice saying something about the ‘divine right of kings’ in a rolling, home counties accent. Carisi gave Barba a mischievous smile.

Barba caught onto the beginnings of a game. He stood and unlatched the closest window, welcoming the rush of traffic and cool breeze that lifted the curtains.

Carisi stood and pushed open the window on the other side of the bed. He spread his arms and revelled in the cold air.

“Can we use this?” Barba pointed to the fan heater that sat in one corner. He felt like a kid round at a friends’ house, asking which blankets were okay to use in their den.

“Do ittttt,” Carisi breathed, eyes lighting up at the sheer pointlessness of having the windows wide open and a space heater running.

Barba crouched and with a few switches pressed, it whirred into life. The room was filled with a chorus of droning, rushing, spinning white noise. “Get into bed,” Barba instructed in a low voice, looking around the room for inspiration.

Carisi giggled, actually giggled, and clambered under the duvet, which he pulled up to his chin. “Oh, do the lights,” he suggested.

Barba searched the room again. He spotted a salt lamp, collecting dust in a corner. He plugged it in, turned it on, and flicked the ceiling light off. The room was filled with a dusky pink glow.

Carisi breathed out softly. The clean sheets rustled as he wriggled comfortably.

Barba cracked open the door, allowing the yellow light of the kitchen to reach into the room, making a soft orange where it met the pink on the white wall. Barba’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and he saw Carisi’s little head, eyes closed, poking above the duvet.

He returned to the bed and sat delicately on the edge of the bed. “Is that better?”

“Sounds like we’re by a river,” Carisi mumbled, eyes still closed.

The various rushing, whirring sounds had blended into a ceaseless torrent. “Do you want any more blankets?”

“Yeah…” he murmured happily, “squish me.”

Barba smiled. He reached onto the floor and picked up a huge hoodie, which he placed on Carisi’s chest. Leaving the bed reluctantly, he found a homemade quilt and a heavy woollen blanket by groping around on a high shelf.

Carisi squirmed gleefully as he added each layer, until he fell still and quiet.

“That good?”

“Thank you.”

The English man was talking about the protestant reformation now. His voice was inviting, but once you were listening, you couldn’t hear any of the words. It just blurred into the noise of the room.

Barba took a seat and rested his hand where Carisi’s stomach was under all the layers of blanket. “Sleep well,” he went to say ‘detective’, out of habit, but then, “sleep well, Sonny.”

No reply.

The lighting was low and warm, but he could still make out Sonny’s face. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted. The warm tide of his breathing joined the river of distracting, soul-soothing sound.

“Sleep well, Sonny. I’ll check in tomorrow. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really sleepy when i wrote the end of this chapter - can you tell?
> 
> And the quote is from 'The Picture of Dorian Grey' by Oscar Wilde. The character Lord Henry, who says that, is utterly odious but I do kinda agree with that advice (i think he means it in a 'distracting the soul with laudanum and rent boys way' but a rain sounds app and some spicy tea will do me just as well).


	19. The Results are In

Sunday morning and the results of Carisi’s rape kit were due. Olivia had been at her desk since seven, opening and closing tabs, sipping at a coffee, and feeling her stomach tightening around and around.

Normally, with the traumatised victim playing on her mind, Olivia prayed for a positive rape kit. Of course, a positive rape kit did mean that yet another person had brutalised a friend, or a lover, or a child, but nothing convinced a jury like forensics. One little, “positive”, on an official medical examiner report often counted for more than the victim’s word. Olivia didn’t like it, but a positive result was often the largest weapon in the prosecution’s arsenal.

But this time, now, when the face she saw on closing her eyes was Sonny’s, she couldn’t help praying for a negative. And there was some cause for hope. The rape kit had been ordered on the back of Rafael’s half-glimpsed suspicions. Sonny hadn’t actually said anything to _her_ about sexual assault and Olivia wanted to believe that he would have told her: her if no one else. But twenty years of dealing with victims told her not to be so naïve, that victims, especially men, most often said nothing at all.

Her phone was out on the desk. She picked it up, clicked the screen on, adjusted the ringer volume, turned it off, passed it from hand to hand, and placed it back on the desk. Her eyes flicked to the clock. It was approaching eight thirty. Even on a Sunday, the first lab assistants would be arriving to check the spool of results generated overnight. Olivia had put in a vague but imploring request for them to check this particular result first, and to check it thoroughly.

Her phone beeped. She jumped, snatched at it, then took a deep breath and opened the message. Just one word stood out: “positive”. The oral and facial swabs were positive for another man’s semen.

She had been preparing herself for this possibility ever since Friday night when Barba had whispered his fear to her over gritty coffee in a room smelling of disinfectant. There was no doubt now. Barba had seen what he’d seen. Sonny had been sexually assaulted. And there was a decent chance that he didn’t even remember it.

A movement behind her slatted office blinds caught Olivia’s eye. She saw Fin settling into his desk. He looked up and caught her eye.

Reluctantly, Olivia stood up and placed her phone in her back pocket. From this angle, she could also see Rollins already working at her computer. The sexual aspect of Carisi’s assault was no longer speculation, no longer Barba’s stress-induced imagination. She had to tell the squad, and sooner or later, she would have to tell Barba and affirm the guilt he had heaped on himself.

Olivia headed out into the bullpen towards her squad. A few other detectives were in and she didn’t want them overhearing, so she took Carisi’s usual chair and drew it up to Fin and Rollins’ desks.

They eyed her but didn’t say anything. Usually she preferred to brief standing up, gesturing to a whiteboard, and emphasising with gestures. Rollins turned off her monitor and turned to face Olivia. Fin folded his hands in his lap. Olivia expected some crack about her being grateful for him being in early on a Sunday, but his face was tight and grey.

Olivia took out her phone. She didn’t need the report to reference. She had seen enough to know almost word for word how it would read. It was more the weight in her hands that she wanted. Olivia knew that Rollins would start asking questions if she didn’t take charge and give them some information. “First thing first: Carisi is okay. I spoke to him last night and he said his sister is taking good care of him.”

Rollins nodded thoughtfully.

“There has been a development in the case. During the attack, there is evidence to suggest Carisi was sexually assaulted.” She paused to gauge their reactions.

Fin’s only reaction was a slight nod. In the past, he had been tricky with male victims, but she was glad to see his face remain open.

Rollins bit her lip and looked down. She pressed her stomach, trying to push down the nausea climbing up her throat, trying to hold back the cruel little voice in her head saying, ‘should have been you.”

Olivia leant in. “Barba raised a concern with me, and the hospital ran a rape kit.”

She watched Rollins, who winced at the word, ‘rape’. Fin looked at the floor. Olivia now found herself addressing two bent foreheads.

“Of course, the sooner the samples are taken, the better, so Carisi was still fairly out of it when the swabs were done. Hopefully, that will have spared him some of the trauma, but he may not remember the test, or the assault itself, due to the GHB.”

Rollins was tapping her fingers on her knees. She forced herself to meet Benson’s gaze. “And it came back positive?”

“The oral swabs tested positive for semen.” It was a crude reply, but euphemisms only served to make the discussion of rape more taboo than the act of committing it.

“Did he…” Rollins voice caught, ”did he say anything? He didn’t tell me…We’ve been texting, and he hasn’t even suggested…”

“No, he didn’t. But it wouldn’t be unusual for a male victim not to disclose.”

“Victim? Disclose?! This is Sonny! Our Sonny!”

“I know, Rollins, and I’m sure we’re all very concerned for him, but if we want to keep the case, we need to act professionally.”

Rollins stood abruptly.

Fin watched her in quiet concern.

Olivia fought the rising anxiety in her chest and sank deeper into her pelvis. She wouldn’t match Rollins’ emotional escalation.

“Sonny needs us to focus on the case.”

Rollins ran her hands through her hair. “So, on Friday evening I sat at the bar next to the man who later raped Sonny?”

“We don’t know for sure who-”

“Oh, come on, Lieutenant. It was him. All my instincts say so. Why haven’t we arrested him already?”

“Because there’s still due process, even when its one of our own.”

Rollins looked up above Olivia’s head.

“Lieutenant Benson?”

Olivia turned and recognised the young man from TARU striding across the bullpen. The other detectives glanced up at him. His face was triumphant, important, but Olivia was focused on the piece of paper in his right hand.

“We’ve got a hit on Carisi’s debit card!” He came to a stop and offered Olivia the printout. He shifted from foot to foot while she read it, watching her face. While she read, he explained, “it just came through and I was going to email it over like normal but they said you’d want to know ASAP so I’ve ran all the way down the stairs because maintenance were doing something to the lifts and-”

“Thank you,” Olivia said quietly, ending him mid-stream. She looked up decisively. "Carisi’s card was used at 8:49,” she checked her watch, “6 minutes ago, to buy movie tickets for the early Sunday showing at the Magic Eye Cinema.”

Rollins was already packing her badge and keys into her pockets.

“That’s near Rochester’s apartment,” Fin realised.

“Get him.”

Fin and Rollins didn’t need telling twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops again sorry for slightly disrupted posting. My excuse is moving house I guess? The investigation continues next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Wednesday & Sunday


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